


A Roses match

by freddi11



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Adulting, And Jimmy being a bit more of a softie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Growing Up, How to recover from a break-up, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Slow Burn, Woakesy being his helpful self, and (chapter 9): an entirely platonic ship, and your usual side dose of meddling friends, at least for one of them, cuteness warning, how to break a promise to yourself and end up better for it, last but not least: a tribute to best friends, make that my platonic cricket otp, than he'd want you to think, this is really a very cute story, very slow burn, with the tiniest of sparks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddi11/pseuds/freddi11
Summary: A/N: From the moment I wrote chapter 15 in "The Way You Look Tonight", I knew this was going to happen and I just had to write it.So, here we are. Yet another slow burning story from yours truly, about a ship that's very fast becoming one of my cricket OTPs.But don't expect this to be an easy ride.And yes, this story also has a soundtrack.





	1. Filling in the blanks

**Author's Note:**

> ICYMI, here's the soundtrack for this story:  
> 1) Baba O'Riley - The Who  
> 2) Devil's Dance Floor - Flogging Molly  
> 3) Lemon Tree - Fool's Garden  
> 4) Always Ascending - Franz Ferdinand  
> 5) Exits - Foals  
> 6) Heat Dies Down - Kaiser Chiefs  
> 7) Pompeii - Bastille  
> 8) The Cave - Mumford and Sons  
> 9) Out of the Dark - Falco  
> 10) Unintended - Muse  
> 11) (No more) Paddy's Lament - Flogging Molly  
> 12) Path To Decay - Sirenia  
> 13) Soul Limbo - Booker T and the MCs  
> 14) I Will Wait - Flogging Molly  
> 15) Concerning Hobbits - Howard Shore  
> 16) One Day - Hans Zimmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first free weekend post the Ashes and the ODI series, Ali invites Jimmy, Joe and Jos to spend a day at his house in Chelmsford.  
> And a story is finally told.

“Wow, that’s beautiful.”

Jos’ comment immediately brings an end to the heated discussion around him. With almost identical shrugs and matching expressions – “nevertheless, you were wrong” – both Jimmy and Joe turn around.

As the sun sinks behind the trees at the far end of the small garden, the sky glows with an intense liquid golden colour. A few birds circle among the very faint clouds. Cars slowly roll past on the road outside of the house. A dog barks in the distance.

Otherwise, everything is quiet.

 

For a while, the four friends simply keep standing where they are, admiring the view.

“Do you get these kinds of sunsets very often?” Jos asks Ali.

“Up until November. At least the few days in November that I’ve been here. One of the many advantages of our job.” Ali replies with a grin and looks at his guests. “Are you hungry?”

“You bet.” Jimmy complains half-earnestly. “You made us walk for miles.”

“It wasn’t miles. That was the short track. _What exactly have you_ _been doing since the Oval?”_ Ali stares Jimmy down. “You know that,” Jimmy deadpans and Ali immediately has to laugh. And hopes he did not blush too furiously. “You’re not taking me seriously.” he retorts instead.

“I _can’t_ take you seriously, you’re too ridiculous.” Jimmy points out.

“Excuse me? I may be your boyfriend but I’m also _your captain._ ” Ali reminds him and shares an exasperated look with Joe. “What are we going to do with him?”

“I have more than a few ideas.” Joe rubs his hands gleefully.

“No.” Jimmy replies and fixes Joe with one of his favourite scowls.

 

Jos – still trying to get used to everything, it is the first double date that he has ever been on and he has never spent so much time with both Cooky and Jimmy before – hugs Joe from behind, making his boyfriend laugh. “Stop murdering each other, please.” he tells Joe and plants a kiss behind Joe’s left ear.

“We’re not … okay then. Cookie monster, do you need a hand in the kitchen?” Joe asks and leans into Jos’ arms. “No, but you could set the table if you want.”

They follow Ali indoors as the sun disappears into the forest. A chilly breeze coming from the top of the hill reminds them that, as much as it was a pleasantly warm day, it is in fact the first week of autumn.

The first week they have off after an exceptionally busy and successful summer.

So, to celebrate – and because he promised Joe in the middle of the very long party at the Oval after the last Ashes test – Ali decided to invite Joe and Jos to his house in Chelmsford.

Despite Jimmy’s initial misgivings – he never was a fan of double dates and he would have, slightly selfishly (he knows that) preferred to spend the weekend just with Ali – it has turned out to be a very pleasant day. They enjoyed a late breakfast in the garden, went for a hike around one of Ali’s favourite tracks, chatted, laughed,  played a few rounds of UNO, reminisced about a very eventful and unbelievably successful year. And started to get along with each other on a different level than before.

“It smells fantastic, Ali.” Jos says while he helps the others to carry plates and cutlery into the living room. “Thank you. It’s a family favourite, my granddad taught me the recipe when I moved out. Not that we had roast lamb very often in my childhood, mind you. I’ve always associated it with special occasions. And –“ Ali smiles at Jos – “And today’s a special occasion. At least for me.” “Oh, not just for you.” Joe shares a look with Ali. “I’ve really been looking forward to today.”

“Can’t wait.” Jimmy kisses Ali’s cheek. “It’s been too long since I last had your fantastic roast.”

“That was – wasn’t that for your 31st birthday?” Ali replies but is interrupted by the kitchen timer. “I think. Too long, anyway. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get everything out of the oven.”

A few minutes later Ali returns with a steaming hot dish that he carefully puts down in the middle of the dining table. “There you go, lads, help yourselves to potatoes first of all.”

“Thanks for doing this for us, Ali.” Jos replies.

“My pleasure.” Ali shovels potatoes on his plate. “Enjoy.”

 

They eat in silence, only punctuated by the occasional question – “what’s that very distinct herb?”, “how long did you cook it exactly?”. Under the table, Jimmy strokes Ali’s knee.

 

“Wow, that was great.” Joe puts his fork down. “But I definitely need a break now. I’m stuffed.” “Me too. I do want some of that ice-cream you brought, Jos. But a bit later.” Jimmy agrees.

“So, what do we do now?” Jos asks.

“There is … something.” Ali considers his answer for a moment. Meets Joe’s eyes.

“God knows I had enough on my plate over the last couple of months and years” – Jimmy puts an arm around Ali’s shoulders, making Ali smile – “so I’m not surprised that you … well, you did catch me by surprise in Edgbaston. I … I’ve been curious. Considering I usually know what’s going on in my team…” Ali stops for a moment, annoyed at himself. _I’ll never be good at this._

Joe fixes Ali with a very understanding grin. “Go on?”

“So … want to tell me how you two actually got together?” Ali eventually manages.

Matching beaming smiles.

“Of course.” Joe replies and takes Jos’ hand. “But I do have to warn you. It’s quite the long story.”

“And it doesn’t paint me in the best of lights.” Jos adds.

“Me neither. We … we had to learn more than a bit.” Joe explains with a self-conscious laugh.

“And it never would have happened if we didn’t have Woakesy.” Jos says.

“Now I’m curious too.” Jimmy tells Jos.

 

“I … I’ll go first, okay? It all began in Mumbai, back in December 2012.”


	2. The Devil's favourite cuisine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbai, December 2012.  
> The England team celebrate Christmas and "Captain's Birthday Eve".  
> A party that lasts into the night - and reveals something to Joe that he'd rather not have found out just now.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Startled by the sudden shout, Joe flattens himself against the pale blue wall of the hotel corridor. Not a minute too late, as it turns out. Samit and Jonathan hurry past him, carrying something that looks like chairs they must have borrowed from the dining room. Followed closely by Matt in full command mode.

Matt catches sight of Joe’s expression and laughs.

“Had a good nap, Rooty?” the wicketkeeper grins and motions Samit to lean the chair he is carrying against the wall – where, as Joe now realises, already twenty identical others are lined up in similar fashion. Along with two long tables and a colourful assortment of plates, glasses and bowls.

“Yep,” Joe yawns and stretches himself. “I must have slept like a log, though. I didn’t hear a single thing. What are you up to? And more importantly – can I join in?” he asks excitedly.

“Sure, we need every help we can get.” Matt says. “Since this is your first full tour, I don’t think you’ve heard of it just yet – but us in the Test side, ever since Straussy took over as captain from Fred three years ago, we’ve got this annual tradition. If we are on tour over Christmas, no matter where we are, we try to have the most English Christmas party possible. Yes, that includes carol singing. And mulled wine. Kev and Ian are in charge of that.”

“Brilliant.” Joe rubs his hands. “What can I do?”

“Mind carrying these chairs in for me?”

“Of course not.” Joe makes sure his keys are stored safely in his jeans pocket and wanders over to help Samit. “How do … hang on, isn’t that Cooky’s room?” he laughs. “I just remembered the number.”

“Took you long enough.” Samit gives Joe a playful punch on the arm.

“But…”

“Of course! You don’t know that either!” Jonathan, coming out of the room, joins in. “Our unfortunate captain was born on Christmas Day. So he’s also in for a surprise birthday party.”

“You sure he’s going to like that?” Joe asks before he can stop himself. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he already knows Alastair. But one thing has become apparent to him through their many short chats over the last almost two months – his captain is an introvert. _Almost the textbook definition of one._ _Doing a good job at hiding it, though. But I wouldn’t be that confident to assume he …_

“Don’t worry,” Matt reassures Joe. “Cooky’s been with us long enough. He knows we’re up to something.” “And in any case,” Jonathan shoulders the next two chairs, “he’s only got himself to blame. After all it was Cooky that started the “captains’ surprise parties” in Australia two years ago. Don’t let yourself get fooled by his public schoolboy demeanour. He can give Swanny a run for his money when he’s up to it.”

“Tell me more,” Joe laughs and bends down to pick up a chair.

 

Tim, Chris, Eoin and Jade, having returned from an extended table-tennis match (“27 to 25, Rooty, you really should have seen it!”, as Jade explains), are quickly roped in by Matt to help with party preparations.

Before long, Alastair’s room is completely transformed. There are little garlands – snowmen and snowflakes – hanging from the ceiling, paper Christmas trees strewn all over the carpet and on the bed, Tim has turned the air condition up a little, so the entire room gives off at least a slightly winterish feeling. Not that that is too hard, the heat in Mumbai has been particularly oppressive all day.

In the corner, Chris and Jonathan busy themselves trying to work out the new speakers for Jonathan’s iPod, while Eoin sits next to them with a hotel notepad, writing down song requests.

“Perfect.” Matt steps back and admires his handiwork.

“And what does Cooky get for his birthday?” Joe asks.

“I left that up to Jimmy and Stuart. They know him best out of all of us.” Matt explains. “Think we’re done, lads. Good job.”

“Brilliant timing,” a voice with an unmistakeable Brummie accent announces from behind them. Ian and Kevin carry a steaming giant silver pot, carefully deposit it on the table next to Joe. “Do we have an outlet on this wall?” “Yes,” Kevin bends down. “Just here.”

“Great.” Matt looks at his watch. “Stu said they would be back from golf by 5:30. Let’s meet in this corridor at 5:25 – and be on time, lads.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Eoin laughs. “Anyone up for a swim? We’ve still got one and a half hours.”

“Why not, let me just get my trunks.” Joe replies. Hurries back to his room, rummages in his suitcase until he finds the brand-new red shorts he bought before his departure for Dubai in October.

_This tour is already the best I’ve ever been on. And it’s far from over,_ he tells himself with a satisfied grin. Only a week ago, Joe finally achieved something he had been dreaming about for the best part of the last two years – his test debut. And it was a memorable day. Everything about it.

From the slightly embarrassing (and a bit emotional) moment in the morning when they all lined up in a circle and listened to Michael Vaughan (it is a nice touch, the way the ECB always hands this duty to someone who knows the player in question quite well) give a great and funny speech about Joe before presenting him with his first ever cap (which he has been wearing almost non-stop for a week). To another – very personal and definitely unexpected – moment just a few minutes before the first day’s play began, when Alastair noticed Joe was more than a bit nervous and had done his best to calm Joe down. To that incredible feeling of waving his bat at the balcony when Joe passed fifty.

And of course, the moment they drew the match and sealed the series victory.

It is his first ever tour with the senior England side. And Joe has been playing first-class cricket long enough to know that there is no guarantee they will call him up again (but he also KNOWS the Ashes are lurking around the corner).

Yet, there is something about it, about the way the coaches look at him, about the way the other players treat him since his 73, last week. Something that tells Joe “this is only the beginning.”

 

When he tells Eoin that, while they let themselves into the hotel pool, give off almost identically relaxed sighs as their feet touch the pleasantly cool water, his Irish-born teammate pats Joe’s back. “That is exactly the attitude you’re supposed to have, Rooty. That’s going to get you far.” “You think?” Joe replies with a smile. “Sure. I’ve seen a few things in the last five years. Anyway – race you?”

Laughing, they set off on the first length.

 

An hour later, Eoin and Joe, having completely dried off on two of the many comfortable sunbeds around the pool area, go back upstairs to get changed. And then, trying to stifle their laughter, meet the rest of their teammates, already outfitted with red-and-white Christmas hats, flashing lights or plastic antlers.

“Stu just texted. They will be here in five minutes.” Matt whispers and switches the light off.

 

It is all Joe can do to keep himself from giggling while he waits in the corridor, sandwiched between Kevin and Jade. Far from his first ever surprise party. He has always loved the comical expressions on people’s faces when they walk into a room and think it is empty – only to be met by an assortment of their friends and family.

Nevertheless, a slight worry lingers at the back of Joe’s mind.

_Let’s hope he really likes it. Wouldn’t want to upset him… why on earth do I even think that._

The sound of the lift making its way upstairs breaks through Joe’s thoughts.

A muffled giggle behind him, quickly silenced by Kevin.

 

A “bing.” The doors open. Three pairs of shoes step out.

“It’s pitch dark in here.” A Lancastrian voice complains. “Is there anything wrong with…” But Jimmy trails off. Followed by one of his almost trademark grunts. A less annoyed one than usual. Bordering on affectionate, one could almost say. “Oh gods how could I forget about that. Sorry, Ali…”

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” twenty-three excited voices shout at the same time.

Ali, Jimmy and Stuart startle briefly.

And then break out into identical fits of laughter as Matt turns the light back on again and they catch sight of the rest of their teammates, crammed into the narrow hotel corridor. Evidently having tried their best to outdo each other with finding the kitschiest Christmas outfit possible.

“And … happy birthday, skip.” Ian says before Ali can even open his mouth.

Ali wipes his eyes. “I really should have known, lads.” he replies with a wide grin. “Well, the surprise worked alright. Wait a second … Stu, were you in on this?”

“Can’t keep anything from you, can I?” Stuart laughs.

“You weren’t exactly unsuspicious on the golf course.” Ali side-hugs Stuart. “Is that mulled wine I can smell?” “What else? We’re all about traditions on Christmas Eve. Or captains’ birthday eve.” Jonathan replies. “Kev and Ian have done their best.”

“As usual, thanks lads.” Ali casts an eye around the corridor and clears his throat. “Everyone’s here, perfect. Well … don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to give a speech. You should know me by now. I’m just going to say … lads, it’s been a really fun tour so far. Thanks for the surprise – I’ll order dinner for us in a bit – and could we get a bit of music in here as well?”

“Of course,” Swanny grins. “Three, two…”  “Please don’t sing.” Jimmy pleads.

“One!” Swanny continues, unimpressed.

And the entire corridor launches into an incredible cacophony which only barely resembles “For he’s a jolly good fellow.”

“That was …” Ali collapses into another fit of giggles. “They must have heard that down on the ground floor. What exactly were you trying to sing, Swanny?”

“I am offended.” Swanny huffs but is interrupted by an even louder noise. Loud enough to make several of the party guests in the corridor jump and press their hands over their ears.

“TURN THE BLOODY VOLUME DOWN!” Kevin shouts at the top of his voice.

“I have no idea how to!” Matt yells back.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Jimmy shoves past Kevin and Matt and grabs the remote control. “It’s the bloody button with “minus”, Matthew.”

The noise dies down a bit. Enough for everyone to make out the song playing over the loudspeakers.

“Let it snow?” Stuart laughs.

“My idea.” Chris flushes slightly. “They’re looking forward to snow back home. So, we could do a bit to help them.” “Lovely idea. Anyway, help yourself to drinks and crisps, lads. I’ll call reception. What time do we want to have dinner?”

“Seven’s probably best.” Jonathan says.

“Okay then. I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

Christmas carols mingle with a few select indie rock songs. Lounging everywhere – on chairs, the soft carpet floor, the windowsills – Joe and his teammates chat, play cards, every so often join in with the music. Take lots of silly selfies, share them with each other (“But just so we’re clear, nothing leaves this hotel floor”, Ian insists). Laugh. Dissect the test series and the T20 games.

 _And to think I worried how I would fit into the team. It’s as if they’ve all known me for years,_ Joe realises with a satisfied smile while he types a short text to his mum. **Merry Christmas from Mumbai. Just waiting for dinner. Hope it’s cold enough back home. Love you :)**

The relative racket – almost unavoidable, especially with Swanny in the middle of a hilarious re-enactment of one of his favourite scenes from “Blackadder” – is only broken at exactly 7 pm when the lift stops at their floor. White-uniformed waiters, followed by the head chef, step out, wheel a cart with three giant steaming bowls, plates, a basket full of naan and cutlery over to Ali’s room.

“Fish, beef and vegetable curry. And the naan’s our chef’s special recipe.” one of the waiters tells Ali while a pleasantly spicy smell fills the air. “Thank you.” Ali hands over a bundle of notes.

“Enjoy your meal.”  The hotel staff head back for the lift.

“Before anyone thanks me, Andy’s paying.” Ali explains to his team.

“Brilliant. I’m starving.” Swanny pats Ali’s back.

“Help yourselves, lads.”

 

They line up, fill their plates with hot naan and spoonfuls of curry. “I’m having something of everything,” Joe says to Stuart. “Good idea, me too. Just – make sure you’ve got enough to drink. Knowing our Cooky, he’s ordered at least one of these curries in “Indian spicy.”

“Who cares. We’re in India, best get used to the cuisine.” Jimmy joins in. “It’s all part of the fun.”

Joe casts an eye along the corridor, looking for a place to sit (with that amount of sauce, you wouldn’t want to spill something down you by eating it standing up). Eventually spots two deserted chairs to his right and heads for them.

Just as he wants to take the first bite of his still quite warm naan, a voice interrupts him.

“Mind if I join you?”

Faint traces of a West Country accent. Quite musical. And intensely pleasing to listen to.

A shiver runs down Joe’s spine.

Slowly, he looks up. Directly into a pair of friendly, sparkling light grey eyes that smile at him.

_Oh holy … wow. What has he done to himself? Has he always been this handsome?_

Annoyed at himself, Joe shakes his head. _What’s happening to me? I’m acting like a stupid bloody teenage boy with a crush. And that’ s not … I mean, for god’s sake, Joe, you’ve known him for a while. Don’t tell yourself … no. That’s not happening._

“Oh, you’re keeping that seat for someone else?” Jos asks. Sounds a bit disappointed.

“What … why?” It takes Joe’s brain a few seconds to catch up with his eyes. “Sorry! I was just … I don’t know why I did that. Of course, have a seat.” Joe quickly takes a bite of his naan. “That’s brilliant. I mean, the bread. And … how have you been, Jos? We haven’t had any chance to chat so far. How do you like our Christmas party? Doesn’t Swanny look brilliant with that hat?”

_Joseph, stop it. He can hardly get a word in edgewise. What IS wrong with you?_

Jos laughs (music in Joe’s ears). “First things first. I’m hungry.”

“Sorry about that.” Joe quickly replies (and hopes Jos mistakes the blush creeping up his cheeks as a reaction to the very spicy food). “Stop apologising. Enjoy your meal.” Jos chuckles.

“You too.” Joe smiles at Jos and scoops up another spoonful of his fish curry.

 

They eat in relative silence, laughing at Swanny who has now, his “Blackadder” sketches having found an audience, launched into a very convincing impression of Stephen Fry’s General Melchett.

Every so often, Joe takes an opportunity to sneak a sidelong glance at his namesake.

It is not the first time they have played in the same team. But up until now, Jos, for Joe, was just a face in a crowd, one of many cricketers he has come across in the last four years. Entirely unremarkable, except for his quite impressive batting style (Joe remembers the entire England U18 squad stopping what they were doing and watching Jos hit six after six).

That was Joe’s first impression of the young wicketkeeper, currently wiping tears of laughter from his eyes as he applauds Swanny. “Brilliant. Can I borrow the DVD at some point? I need to brush up my memory.” Jos says and throws a napkin in Swanny’s general direction. Who catches it with one hand and nods.

_I don’t think I ever saw him properly during that training camp._

_Which is good, I suppose. Otherwise I’d have made a complete arse out of myself._

So far (ever since he had that slightly terrifying realisation six years ago) Joe has been relatively lucky with the reactions he got when he told people he was into both men and women. His younger brother Billy only half-earnestly complained that Joe was “going to rob him of any chance of finding a girlfriend”. Joe’s parents, after giving him a giant hug and telling them they were incredibly proud of him, took it upon themselves (and still do) to find him a suitable partner (Joe reckons his mum must have talked to every single woman with children roughly his age in their suburb of Sheffield). And even his granddad, who took a while to get used to the idea (“we just didn’t talk about this when I was your age”), eventually surprised Joe by adding a sticker to his car (okay, so it was the rainbow flag rather than the bisexual pride one, but the gesture still made Joe tear up).

But being out in front of your family and friends was one thing.

Your teammates – well, so far, Joe has been trying to dodge the question as best as he can. Even though most of the senior guys in the team do not strike him as bigots. Especially not his captain. Because there is something about Alastair that just makes Joe want to talk to him about anything and everything.

_Still, he doesn’t have to know just yet. Who knows, it might be my only tour. Best not to give away everything. Might come across as too eager. And I really don’t want him to think I’m weird._

_I want him to like me._

_What am I even thinking,_ Joe scolds himself while he watches Alastair blow out eight candles on a giant chocolate birthday cake (very successfully hid in the fridge of Swanny’s room, apparently), cut up slices for everyone. _That would be completely inappropriate._

_No, I’d best keep it to myself. For the time being._

“Want a slice?” Jos interrupts his thoughts and Joe feels the butterflies dance in his stomach.

“Of course.” Joe replies with a wide grin.

“Stay here, I’m getting you one as well.”

 

Once everyone has had enough to eat (“I’m so full I can’t move”, Swanny complains), the party – as with every team party – spills over, splits into several smaller parties in different rooms and on the hotel terrace. Alastair and a couple of the older guys make themselves comfortable in Jimmy’s room, watch “Home Alone” and share a giant bowl of popcorn. Samit and Jonathan order drinks for everyone and carry them up on the hotel roof, 20 storeys above the sprawling bustling metropolis of Mumbai.

Eventually, only Eoin, Jos, Joe, Chris and Matt are left standing in the corridor.

“Anything you’re after?” Eoin asks, finishing his whiskey.

“Oh we could get in the pool for a bit?” Matt suggests. “I know you’ve already been this afternoon but I’d quite like to cool myself off. It does get a bit sticky over here.”

“Fine with me.” Chris says and Jos nods.

“Let’s meet downstairs in ten minutes.” Eoin tells his teammates.

Trying his best to hide his grin ( _I’m going to see him without a shirt – STOP IT JOE)_ , Joe fetches his bathing trunks from the clothesline in his room, throws on a T-shirt and hurries down the staircase.

The others are already waiting for him on the ground floor. Eoin carries a giant inflatable ball. “Thought we needed something to play with.”

“Good idea.” Matt pats Eoin’s back. “After you.”

 

A still quite stickily hot night greets them as they enter the small hotel garden. Although garden may be a slight exaggeration for the assortment of palm trees and shrubs on a floor paved with red terracotta stones. The pool, so busy during the day, is perfectly still, a shining dark blue rectangle lit up by a few lights on the floor.

“Brilliant.” Chris grins, pulls his T-shirt off and jumps into the water. “Come on, lads, what are you waiting for?”

_Don’t stare._ _Or god knows, you might be … Jesus fucking Christ._

All resolutions in vain, Joe knows his jaw must have dropped. He rapidly blinks, tries to busy himself with his sandals. _He could still do a bit more, but wow. He’s …_

Splash.

Without warning,  Joe finds himself in the water, sputtering, gasping for air and wiping the chlorinated liquid from his eyes.

And hears a chorus of laughter around him.

“Rooty, how on earth did you manage that?” Eoin giggles.

“I don’t even know what happened.” Joe complains and – with some effort – manages to take his T-shirt off and throw it on one of the nearest sunbeds.

“You lost balance and fell in.” Matt, trying to sound sympathetic and failing, explains.

“Perfect.” Joe grumbles and reaches for the ball. “If word of this gets around…”

“It will, no doubt about that.” Chris interrupts him with a smile. “Don’t worry. All of us have made fools of ourselves on tour at some point.”

Joe sighs at himself and pulls off his one remaining sandal, launches it in the vague direction of his T-shirt. “Okay then. Let’s play.”

 

After a while, Joe realises that he has not heard anything from Jos since their game started. Despite everything in him yelling at him not to ( _just another opportunity to embarrass yourself_ ) he looks around the pool.

And finds Jos on the far end, leaning against the wall. Joe crosses the distance in a few quick strokes. “You okay, mate?” With a start, he realises that Jos is quite pale.

Jos winces. “Not sure. I … shouldn’t have eaten that fish curry.” He grits his teeth.

“Oh no.” Matt has joined them and caught the tail end of their conversation. “Let’s get you out of the water. I … happens to everyone of us, in India. It does take a while to get used to the cuisine.”

Together, Joe and Matt help Jos to leave the pool, lead him over to one of the sunbeds. Chris hurries to fetch a towel and a glass of water. “Want to go to your room?” he asks, crouching next to Jos who leans back against the headrest, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep breathing as evenly as he can.

“I … bucket. Please.” Jos croaks and Chris – just in time – hands him one of the wastepaper baskets.

Joe strokes Jos’ back, ignoring the million little tingles in his arm. “You’ll feel better once it’s all gone.” he tells Jos. “Really. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Eventually, Jos relaxes. Sighs. Accepts the glass of water from Chris, rinses out his mouth.

“Sorry lads.” he says with a faint smile.

“No need to apologise. Have a good night’s sleep and you’ll feel better.” Matt squeezes Jos’ arm.

“I’ll go back up with you.” Joe tells Jos before he can stop himself. And gets a grateful grin in return. “Speaking from experience?” “Yes, unfortunately. Before the third test. The thali was great, it was just … a bit too much too spicy.” Joe laughs and helps Jos to stand up. “You okay?” “Think so.”

Leaning on Joe’s arm, Jos hobbles back into the hotel and Joe fetches their room keys. “You know what you could do tomorrow morning?” he tells Jos while they wait for the lift. “My mum always did that for me when I was a boy. Helps your stomach sort itself out. A glass of hot water and a spoonful of lemon juice. First thing in the morning.” “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Jos smiles weakly. “Really a shame. The food was fantastic.”

Arm still around Jos’ shoulders, Joe leads him to his room. “I’ll just get you into bed ( _wipe that silly grin off your face, Joseph_ ) and go back down again. Text me if you need anything.”

Another of these fantastic smiles. “You’re a good friend.”

But as Joe tries to open the door, he finds it already unlocked. “Oi! I’m trying to sleep!” a South African voice complains from indoors. Footsteps hurry across the room and – to Joe’s surprise and undeniable dismay, Craig appears in the doorframe. “I … oh no, Jossy, what’s wrong?” he asks gently.

“Too spicy dinner.” Jos shrugs.

“Thanks for looking after him, Joe, I’ll take it from here.” Craig tells Joe with a grateful grin, takes Jos’ hand and leads him indoors. “We’ve almost made it … look, there’s your bed, have a lie down. I’ll be right beside you.”

 

The door closes on its own.

Leaving Joe standing stock-still in the corridor.

There was no way he could have mistaken Craig’s behaviour for anything else.

And the sight is enough to make Joe feel as if he wants to throw up as well.

_What was I thinking. Of course. A good-looking guy like him._

Sighing to himself, Joe waits for the lift.

_Glad I know at least._


	3. A giant metal bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2013. The England squad is at last on their way home from India.  
> And Joe, to his delight (and mild terror) finds himself sitting next to Jos for the entire flight.

This early in the morning, New Delhi airport is almost empty.

By Indian standards at least.

Only a few slightly bedraggled and bleary-eyed passengers hurry past Joe and his teammates while they put their backpacks through security control.

Nobody is in a mood to talk much, most of them having slept only a few hours after the customary end-of-tour party the evening before. Which, despite a narrow loss in the ODI series, was the usual raucous and mildly chaotic affair (and involved, at some point, half the team frantically searching for Stuart – a chain of events which Joe still cannot quite work out).

Yawning widely, Alastair looks at his watch. “4:45. I’ll have a word with the ECB when we’re back. That is NO time to schedule a flight.” “And that’s something, coming from an early bird like you.” Tim points out with a laugh. Which is loud enough to make James wince and press his hand to his forehead. “Turn it down a bit, will you? My head feels like it’s twice the size.” he groans.

With a sympathetic grin, Tim rummages in his backpack and hands James a small white box. “Aspirin. Help yourself.”

“No thanks. I’ll go straight back to sleep once we’re on the plane.” James shrugs and smiles.

“Anyone know where our gate is?” Kevin, looking a bit pale behind his giant sunglasses, asks.

“At the far end of the corridor.” Chris replies after squinting his eyes at a noticeboard to his left.

 

While he follows the rest of his team along, trying to keep up with Chris’ impressive pace (then again, Chris was the most sensible of them last night, so it really is not much of  a surprise that he’s quite fit), Joe is suddenly reminded of something he had not thought about before.

_Who am I going to sit next to on the plane? I mean, not that that’s much of an issue, we fly business class and I won’t get to see a lot of them anyway. But I haven’t asked anyone yet. Do they all have regular spots? How should I go about this?_

Unbidden, his eyes flick to the top of the group, to a brown-haired lanky figure in an England tracksuit, chatting animatedly with Samit (who is also, unusually for him, at least partially awake. But then, as Joe recalls with a grin, he did fall asleep in the middle of James’ room last night).

The butterflies in his belly dance at the sight.

 _No. Absolutely not,_ Joe tells himself. _Almost ten hours next to him? That’s an open invitation for being an idiot. Craig may have already gone home, but I’d rather not risk it._ Joe sighs softly.

Suddenly a hand lands on his left shoulder, making him jump.

“You okay?” a gentle voice asks quietly, and Joe feels a pair of warm dark brown eyes look down on him. “Sure, Cooky,” he replies hurriedly, feeling his ears heating up. “I’m just stuffed.”

_I could…_

_No, Joseph. Not now. The others will hear it._

“You and the rest of this team,” Alastair says with a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s just twenty more minutes and we can all sleep again.” An odd shadow flickers across his face. “I need to send a quick text, excuse me.”

 _Is something wrong?_ Joe wonders while he watches his captain take out his phone and type on the keyboard, face screwed up in concentration and his tongue poking out between his teeth. _That almost sounded like he’s sad about something. And …_

“Welcome to British Airways Flight B 2812 from New Delhi to London Heathrow. Passengers sitting in rows 1 to 14, please have your passports and tickets ready for boarding,” a voice from above Joe’s ear announces. James cringes again. “Why do they have to have it set to maximum volume?”

“Stop complaining, Tredders, your bed is waiting.” Tim carefully pats James’ back.

_He isn’t the only one.  I really need to sleep at least a bit. I’m having some very weird thoughts._

Joe holds his passport up for inspection. “Enjoy your flight, sir,” the airport staffer tells him. “Thanks.” A wide yawn feels like it is about to split his face in two. His eyes water. Just in time, he remembers that he promised to text his mum before the plane takes off.

**At the airport, everything’s fine. Let’s hope our stuff makes it back with us. See you in 11 hrs.**

Joe puts his phone away and takes a last look at the city behind him. _It’s been a brilliant tour. I hope I’ll be back one day. I still have unfinished business. Like actually scoring a century._

“Get a move on.” Stuart, stifling a yawn, jabs an uncomfortably pointed finger into Joe’s ribs. “We all want to lie down again.”

 

Once they are on the plane, there is – as usual (at least that is what an exasperated Tim grumbles next to Joe) - a mild scramble for the seats next to the windows. In the end, they settle the debate with something that amounts to the most chaotic game of rock, paper, scissors that Joe has ever taken part in. Including a five-minute delay because Kevin (as he explains it) can not remember the correct symbol for “paper”.

“Thank god Jimmy isn’t here,” Stuart laughs while he settles in his seat in the last row. “Exactly. We’d already have seen one of the trademark James Anderson explosions.” Kevin, in the middle of removing his shoes, replies in an odd tone. Equal parts amused and annoyed. “Something wrong?” Stuart asks. But Kevin gives a non-commital shrug and stores his shoes in his backpack. “None of your concern.”

Joe, having won against Eoin, stuffs his backpack under the seat in front of him and spends a few mildly annoyed minutes trying to work out how to recline his seat (not helped by a very distinct giggle a few rows behind him; Tim is going to have to pay for this when they see each other at the next training session in Leeds). To his relief, the row he finds himself in is empty.

_I don’t mind having a bit of peace and quiet. The last couple of weeks have been exhausting._

While he fishes his sleeping mask out of his backpack – why did he put it in first when he started to pack?– Joe does not notice that he is being watched.

Eventually, a polite cough startles him.

“Is this seat free?” the most beautiful voice in all of English cricket, accompanied by a laugh that makes Joe’s entire insides dance, asks. _Well.  Shit. Think before you speak, Joseph, please._

While Joe tries to come up with an uncompromising answer, Jos continues: “Please don’t make me spend the flight next to Stuart. For one, he probably has the loudest snore you have ever heard. And then, when he’s slept enough, he really does not know when to shut up.” He looks at Joe with an almost comically pleading expression.

Joe grins. “You do know how to turn on the charm.” _JOSEPH, YOU IDIOT,_ he scolds himself as soon as the words have left his mouth. _Are you bloody unable to hold a bloody normal conversation with him? Does the name Craig Kieswetter mean anything to you?_

To Joe’s amazement, Jos smiles shyly ( _just how stunning can someone look?_ ). “Is that a yes?” he asks with a chuckle. “Of course,” Joe replies hurriedly and picks up his tracksuit jacket, spreads it across his lap ( _that way, at least he doesn’t see how much I enjoy having him this close)_. “But I do have to warn you. I snore too.”

Jos raises an eyebrow and grins. “Can’t be as bad as Stuart.”

“Don’t make me prove it to you. I can’t resist a challenge.” Joe returns Jos’ grin. “How’s your head?”

“Okay-ish. That pizza we had at 10 pm was a good idea.” Jos presses a button in his armrest and tilts the upper part of his seat back a bit. “Comfy. Don’t usually sleep much on the plane, but today…” “You’d take a bench on the Tube if it was free,” Joe finishes his sentence. “You just spoke my mind.” Jos smiles and zips up his tracksuit jacket. “Here’s hoping they turn the air condition down once we’re off. What time are we supposed to…”

“Cabin crew, ready for take-off.” comes the announcement over the on-flight radio.

“Here we go.” Joe stretches his arms, careful not to brush against Jos, and yawns. Pulls his sleep mask over his eyes. “Wake me up in two hours, please.”

“Will do,” Jos says and – as much as that is possible – curls up in his seat. “Sweet dreams.”

 _Oh, that’s not much of a challenge,_ Joe thinks and hopes Jos has not seen the smirk on his face. _Thank god you can’t read my mind, or you’d very happily sit with Broady instead._

“Anything to drink, sir?”

For a moment, Joe is not sure whether the friendly Indian-accented voice belongs to the very confusing dream he had. Something weird about a giant rubber duck wearing an Australian cricket helmet. He really has to draw the image once he gets a hold of his pad and pencil.

An unpleasantly intense tingle in his arm wakes him up properly. With some effort, Joe removes the sleep mask from his eyes. Blinks a couple of times.

“Time to destination – 7 hours and 36 minutes,” the small blue viewscreen on the back of the seat in front of him tells him. A map with a tiny black plane informs him that they are currently in the middle of the Arab sea.

Belatedly, he registers the flight attendant, still looking at him with a polite smile.

“Cup of tea, please,” he says, realising it is probably the best choice because his stomach still feels a bit queasy. While he warms his hands on the red plastic cup, Joe looks around the dimly lit cabin.

Only a few lamps above the respective seats are switched on. The rest of the lads seem to be fast asleep. _We really should push for a later flight next time,_ Joe thinks as he stirs his tea with a spoon. _That was absolute torture this morning. Thank god I have ten days off before we meet at Headingley. I would be useless in training, the state I’m in right now._

_But then – how much am I really going to play for Yorkshire this year?_

Joe sips the hot liquid and leaves the thought unfinished. He does not want to jinx it. Nobody should be confident enough to assume they are guaranteed to play in the next international series.

Unless they are Kevin Pietersen, maybe.

Joe has not made up his mind if he likes Kevin or if he simply respects him. Sure, he was, like all of the other batsmen, especially nice to Joe in the days leading up to the first test and in the last training session before Joe’s debut. Gave Joe a couple of valuable tips on dealing with pressure and timing his shots.

But there is something about Kevin that unsettles Joe a bit. A slightly standoffish aura. That tells Joe he had better not get on Kevin’s bad side (and he’s seen a few examples of Kevin’s temper on tour. Most recently when Swanny, before he left two days before the New Year, tied Kevin’s favourite trainers together so comprehensively that it took Kevin almost fifteen minutes to untangle the knot again).

_Nevertheless, he’s a brilliant batsman. I don’t have to be best mates with all of them._

 

Which (because of course it does) brings Joe’s thoughts back to Alastair. To their first unexpected meeting in the lounge at Heathrow in October. A pleasantly polite chat helped by the discovery that they both did not like pistachios at all. _We really hit it off from that moment. Still wonder how or why._

Over the last couple of weeks, they have not had a lot of time to chat except for the first evening in Dubai when Alastair invited Joe to dinner. Which, unplanned, lasted almost four hours, turned into an intense discussion of batting techniques, the advantages and disadvantages of certain types of gloves, a thorough appreciation of the annoyances of having younger brothers – and a lot of other things Joe cannot remember anymore.

_He’s everything I expected. Quietly funny, a terrific captain and he’s just so easy to talk to. Hope this isn’t the last time we spend together. I’d quite like to know what he thinks of me, though._

With that thought, Joe looks around the cabin, but cannot spot Alastair anywhere.

 

“Oh well, it’s still over seven hours.”

“Seven hours?”

Joe jumps at the sudden sound next to him. Jos stirs, turns around and smiles at Joe. “Sorry, didn’t want to scare you.” His stomach grumbles audibly. “Okay, I think I’m over the worst part.,” Jos comments with a mildly embarrassed laugh.  “I could do with something to eat. You too?”

“Now you mention it, yes. Do we get meals on this plane?” “We have to.” Jos takes a blue plastic box out of his backpack. “In the meantime, want some dried mango? Bought it at that mini market yesterday.”

“Sure, thanks.” Joe leans across, doing his best not to accidentally touch Jos, and helps himself to a few oval orange pieces of fruit. “Hm, nice. I’ve … I can only offer you the rest of my chocolate if you want.” he adds with what was probably the most bashful smile he has managed in quite a while.

“You don’t have to.” Jos replies between bites of mango.

“But you do want some. I can see that. And … well, my mum kept repeating that to my brother Billy and me when we were kids. If someone’s being nice to you, think of something nice you can do for them.”

Jos laughs. “She’d get along fine with my mum. Mind you, my mum had her hands full with the three of us.” “You’re the youngest, aren’t you?” “Yes.” “What was that like?” Joe looks over at Jos. _Probably best if we stick to safe stuff. Less chance I can do something embarrassing._

_Besides, we really don’t know that much about each other. Yet._

Jos pauses for a moment and then laughs quietly. “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t heard about that day with Aravinda de Silva and my pen yet. Apologies…,” he wipes his hands on a tissue, “I do tell the story quite often.” “In case you were trying to scare me off, it’s not working. You met _the_ Aravinda de Silva?”

“Wouldn’t call it “met.” Jos points out. “Anyway, it was 14 – wow, 14 years ago, I’m old – and my parents had taken the three of us to the County Ground in Taunton.”

 

Joe rests his chin in his left hand and listens, wincing in sympathy and stifling more than a few laughs. _I could listen to you talk for hours, you know?_ For once, he is glad that the light in the airport cabin is not exactly bright, making it easier for him to pass the blush that has made itself at home on his cheeks as “probably just a shadow.”

 _This is going well;_ he thinks while their conversation ambles on, from favourite ways to spend their birthdays to memories of age-group cricket and which band defines indie rock (both their favourite musical genre) best of all. Only vaguely, Joe notices the hours ticking by on the screen, his initial plans to watch at least one film thrown out of the window. _I can do that once I’m back home. Who knows when I’m going to see him again. And –_ but he brushes the thought of Craig far from his mind. _He’s in Taunton. Still four hours away. What he doesn’t know …._ And only the more sensible part of his brain stops him from inching just a tiny bit closer to Jos. _No. Don’t. I don’t care how much you’re enjoying this, you are NOT doing anything, do you hear me, Joseph Edward?_

 

Without warning, the plane drops a foot in height.  A “ding” from the overhead speakers tells the passengers to fasten their seatbelts again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer. Would you please return to your seats. We are experiencing a little turbulence.” a tinny voice announces.

“A little?” Jos whispers between gritted teeth as strong winds send the airplane bouncing. “If you’re calling that “little”, do I really want to know what you’d consider a serious turbulence?” He grips his armrest as tight as he can, making the knuckles on his right hand turn white.

“Don’t worry.” Joe replies in the most calming tone he can manage. “Sure, it’s scary, but we’re safe in here. Had a look at the plane before we got in? That’s at least a few metres of metal. Strong stuff. That’s going to protect us. And the captain knows what she’s doing. They all need to know what they’re doing. Otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed to fly. We’re safe. That’s just a little bad weather.”

Jos looks at Joe, pale and frightened. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to. I … I’m here.” While the plane makes another mildly distressing lurch forward, Joe fights two equally loud voices in his mind, yelling for his attention. _You are NOT doing anything. Is that going to get into your thick skull, you idiot?_

_I can’t just sit here and watch him panic! I… What._

A clammy, trembling hand suddenly reaches across the armrest, hesitantly takes Joe’s left hand, evidently testing his reaction. Jos does not look at him but keeps staring at his shoes.

Everything inside Joe feels as if it is on fire. Which makes him want to slap himself.  

With a smile that hopefully comes across as sympathetic, Joe laces his fingers through Jos’, gives Jos’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s alright. You’re not alone.” he says softly.

And while the butterflies in his belly do their best to match the winds tearing at the giant metal bird from outside, Joe moves a little bit closer to Jos. Keeps holding his hand. Tries his best not to breathe too deeply, wonders what that perfume (or aftershave) is he keeps smelling. _Suits him. I wish …_

His heart has settled into something that he can only describe as a gallop.

 _I’ve got a giant crush,_ he realises with a sinking feeling in his stomach. _I’ve really got it bad, once again, because I’m bloody unable to stop myself from falling for someone who’s already…_

 

But then, Joe realises the weight in his left hand has lessened slightly.  

And Jos is looking at him with a very soft and grateful smile.

“We’ve left it behind.” he tells Joe. And now Joe notices it as well. The howling outside his seat window has stopped. The plane is travelling as smoothly and undisturbedly as before.

“Yes we did.” Joe acknowledges the fact with a grin.  “Thank you.” Jos looks Joe directly into the eye.

“Don’t mention it. Glad I could help a  …” Joe hesitates, “friend.”

“I owe you one. Remind me of that during the next tour.”

 _I certainly will._ Joe hides his grin. “Want to play something? I’ve got my dad’s old deck of cards in my backpack.”

“No thanks,” Jos yawns and glances at the viewscreen. “Still three hours to go. I’ll sleep a bit. That was…” “Exhausting?” Joe hazards a guess. An indescribable look.

“You spoke my mind. Again.”

“Sleep well.” Joe smiles at Jos and gets up. “Mind letting me out before you nod off? I need to stretch.”

“Sure.”

 

With a last glance back at Jos, pulling the blanket around himself as tightly as he can, Joe stretches and wanders along the almost dark aisle. Most of his teammates are fast asleep. Only Stuart and Tim, sitting at the very back of the business class section, are chatting quietly, playing noughts and crosses on a notepad lying on Tim’s lap. “That was some bad thunderstorm,” Tim grins at Joe as he notices him. Joe nods. “Bit scary.” “Yep.” Stuart agrees. “What are you up to now, Rooty?”

“Just trying to pass the time. See you in Heathrow,” Joe tells him and continues his tour of the airplane.

While he stops to chat to Barney, their team videographer, Joe is suddenly reminded of something else that struck him as odd a few minutes ago. “Have you seen Cooky?”

“Not sure, isn’t he sitting up front?” Barney replies with a  yawn. “Nothing to worry about, Joe.”

_I don’t think you’re right._

_Where did that come from?_

Puzzled at himself, Joe turns around and notices a lone figure leaning against the wall on the far end of the aisle, a few feet away from him.

“Having a quick word with the skipper, Barney.” he excuses himself and makes his way over to Alastair.

 _What are you doing now?_ The sensible half of his brain asks. _He’s got his reasons if he’s over there on his own. Stop being weird or he’s going to be really put off by you. Or is he…?_

Belatedly, Joe notices that Alastair is mustering him. His expression is hard to read. Thoughtful, definitely. Perhaps even … sad? ( _And why does that also really suit him_?)

“What’s going on, Rooty?” Alastair asks quietly.

“Nothing much.” Joe replies with a shrug. “I …” He notices a faint shimmer in Alastair’s dark eyes and tries his best to sound normal ( _okay, something has happened. I … well we don’t know each other that well just yet. So, I might as well distract him for a bit_ ). “That turbulence was quite frightening.”

Alastair nods. “It was. And I’ve had my fair share of flights in the last couple of years. Are you okay?” he asks with a hint of concern in his voice. “Sure. Jos has kept me company.” Joe replies and knows he was not able to keep the smile off his face.

“Jos? He’s sitting next to you now?” Joe can see the wheels in Alastair’s mind turning. A soft laugh. “Of course he is. He, well, let’s just say I had nine hours of Stu snoring on the way to Australia two years ago. That’s something you don’t want to experience more than once. And Jos has no doubt heard the stories from someone. Sensible decision. But he’s quite the sensible lad, isn’t he?”

Joe joins in with Alastair’s laughter, glad his attempt to take his captain’s mind of whatever was troubling him ( _does it have anything to do with Kevin, maybe? They were weirdly icy to each other on the bus_ ). “Yes, he is. Unless … no, I swore an oath I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“Then don’t,” Alastair smiles. “I don’t want to know everything, and this sounds like something I don’t have to. Besides, an oath is an oath.”

“True. I’m going back now, I could do with a couple of hours of sleep.” Joe returns Alastair’s smile.

Alastair rubs his eyes. “Me too, come to think of it. Sweet dreams!”

 

With a decidedly lighter heart, Joe climbs back over Jos who is fast asleep. Fishes his blanket up from underneath his seat, curls up underneath it as best as he can and puts on his sleep mask again. Yawns widely and loudly (and hopes he did not wake anyone up).

_One thing, though, Joseph. As much as it’s tempting._

_You are not even trying to lean across your seat, okay? He. Is. Taken._

_I know, stop reminding me,_ Joe sighs at himself and feels the fatigue spread around his body.

 

 

Joe’s arm has gone to sleep. There is a heavy weight pressing into his left shoulder, sending pins and needles shooting down into his fingers. _Ouch. How on earth did I manage th…_

As he takes his mask off, blinks twice to adjust his eyes to the sudden light, and his ears make that unpleasant popping sound that can only mean the plane has begun its slow descent towards Heathrow airport, something tickles his cheek.

Hair.

Light brown short hair. On his left shoulder. Belonging to …

_How._

Hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, Joe looks down. A knee, clad in the same England tracksuit he is wearing, is touching his left knee. Only centimetres separate their hands on the armrest.

 _How and when._ His heart skips a beat.

_When has he? Or have I?_

_Stop overanalysing, for fuck’s sake. It may be the only time you’ll get to be so close to him and.._

The head on Joe’s left shoulder stirs. A yawn.

Gradually ( _no don’t, stay where you are, no… shit._ ) Jos sits up. “Which of those idiots just switched the light back on … oh. That’s the sun, isn’t it?” He turns to look at Joe. Who – stupid cliché, but true – feels like a sun of his own has just risen in the cabin, such is the attractiveness of the smile he’s hit with.

“Yep, we’re almost back.” Joe manages to sound just rueful enough that Jos could mistake it as disappointment at the tour ending (and not something entirely different). Massages his arm.

“Sentimental?” Jos laughs. “A bit. It was fun. And I won’t get to see all of you again for ages. If they even call me up for the next series.”

“They will. They have to,” Jos states with such confidence that Joe laughs. “Thanks. And you too. No doubt about that. You’ve proved yourself behind the stumps.” Joe replies.

“That’s kind of you.” “I’m telling the truth.”

Jos looks for his phone. “I’d still like to have your number. Just so we can keep in touch.”

Joe ignores his stomach doing cartwheels and grins. “Of course.” he replies and types his number into the black metal rectangle Jos holds in his outstretched palm. “7...3. There you go.” he adds with a flourish.

“And how do you want me to save you in my contacts?” “However you like.”

With a beaming silly grin Joe watches Jos type J…O…E. into the phone.  “Done.”

“Can I have yours now as well?” Joe replies. “Sure.”

 

“Let’s just keep each other updated. About anything. Whatever you want to tell me about.” Jos says after Joe has finished adding his number to his contacts.

“And you me.” Joe says. “Any time you want someone to chat, give me a call. Really. Any time. I’m a bit of an early riser, mind you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Jos puts his phone back into his pocket and holds out his hand. “Deal.”

They shake hands and Joe tries to keep the smile he feels trying to break out from taking over his entire face. “Deal. Let’s pull the blinds back up so we can have a look at London from above.”

 

While they lean at the airplane window, point out landmarks to each other, Joe resolves never to forget a single minute of the tour.

_Especially not this flight. Let’s hope it isn’t the last time I get to spend with him._

_I … whatever else happens, I have at least found a new friend._


	4. 100 runs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headingley, May 25, 2013.  
> For the first time, Joe is able to raise his bat in England colours and celebrate that milestone every batsman craves - a century in a Test match.  
> But while he soaks up the applause from the crowd, including a brand-new chant, there is only one thought on his mind:  
> "Wish he could have seen it too."  
> Joe really is a hopeless case.

“What do you reckon, Rooty? Bat or bowl?”

_What’s Galey asking me for. That’s his job … oh._

Joe’s world snaps back into focus. Belatedly, he realises that the voice addressing him did not even have a hint of a Yorkshire accent, but the quite pleasant tones of a public schoolboy, battered by plenty of days, weeks even in the pavilion at the Essex County Cricket Ground. _Oh brilliant, Joseph. What’s he gonna think of you, eh? Off daydreaming when there’s less than an hour to go before the first day begins. You know what Dizzy would say to that._

Stifling an annoyed grunt, Joe ignores the giggles around him and looks at Al… no, _when are you going to remember that, Joseph, it’s COOKY. Fuck’s sake._

“Bat. Pitch doesn’t look like it has much swing in it.” he replies eventually. Swallows a sigh. _You’ll have plenty of time to daydream later in the day. Right now, your team needs you. Focussed._

Joe’s captain considers his answer. “Makes sense. Swanny, Jim, Stu?” “Oh, you know what we’re about to say,” Jimmy barely conceals his laugh as Stuart nods vigorously.

“I’ll never get you bowling lot. Happiest when you don’t have anything to do.” Ali rolls his eyes at his friends who exchange a high-five – “fast bowler’s union, Alastair,” Jimmy replies with a grin.

Ali checks his reflection in the mirror. “Right lads. Wish me luck.”

“Go well!” Ian pats Ali’s back as he goes downstairs to wait for Brendon McCullum.

 

While their captain completes the toss, exchanges a few pleasantries with the umpires and his opposite number – really more of a friend these days, is Baz, he’s been playing in England for a while now – the England changing room is buzzing with quietly confident preparations.

Ian and Matt go through their usual routine of stretching and throwing balls at each other, daring each other to make hard catches. Jimmy and Swanny – as usual – head outside to reserve their favourite spots on the balcony. Jonathan, Steve and Stuart continue their chat, unperturbed. Share a handful of peanuts.

“We’ll be fine, Rooty.” Steve laughs as he catches Joe’s eye. “What about me just said “why aren’t you nervous?” Joe laughs slightly sheepishly.

“Everything.” Ian puts an arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Rooty lad, you’ll get the hang of this very soon.” “Thanks Belly.” Joe says. “Banana?” “Later. Don’t want to eat anything before lunch. But thanks.”

“Nick?” Ali, who has just made it back upstairs, quickly crosses the room, takes his gloves out of his kitbag. “Get ready. We’ve got 20 minutes.” “Right. Sorry lads, need a bit of space.”

A respectful silence falls over the changing room while the opening batsmen pad up.

 

“You can sit next to me if you want,” Jonny tells Joe. “Thanks. Don’t think I’ll spend a lot of time out on the balcony though.” Joe replies after a brief glance at the sky. “Looks like it could be hot.”

_No, you are not saving him a seat. For one, Jimmy’s already taken care of that. And he’s gonna be out in the middle for a while. Also … Joseph, stop it._

“Five minutes lads.” Andy Flower, carrying their freshly filled water bottles, comes into the changing room and closes the door behind him. “Cooky, Nick, how are you feeling?”

“Ready to go,” Nick answers for both of them. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Go well, you two!” Andy high-fives both of them and goes out on the balcony to pull up his chair, making sure he does not have to spend the next few hours directly in the sun. Already, the last remaining clouds are beginning to disappear.

“Make us proud, lads.” Swanny gives Ali a quick one-armed hug. “We don’t want to have to rescue you today, do you hear me?” “Loud and clear,” Ali laughs and adjusts the straps on his thigh pad. Gets another hug from Jimmy (that, weirdly – and Joe is not sure if anyone else saw it – briefly puts an interesting pink colour on Jimmy’s cheeks. _What was that about_?) “See you at lunch then.”

“Do your job Cooky!” Matt gives Ali and Nick a thumbs-up.

Followed by thunderous applause from outdoors. Time for the national anthems (which always leaves Joe wondering why nobody has ever had a proper look at “God Save The Queen” because it just does not hold up). “Don’t stand next to Stuart if you can avoid it.” someone says a few steps ahead of Joe. A quiet giggle. “Why’s that?” Joe whispers. “He’s completely tone-deaf.”

Joe bites back his laughter. “I’ll have to take your word on this.”

“You should.” Matt joins in. “Chef’s got a good ear.”

“Be quiet lads.” Ian scolds them with a mischievous grin on his face.

 

Shake-hands with the Kiwis out of the way, Joe hurries back upstairs with the rest of his teammates while Ali and Nick walk into the middle. Have a quiet chat. A look up at the sky.

Chants and applause from the stands. Trent Boult stretches, takes the new ball.

The umpire lowers his arm.

Play.

 

While Joe takes a sip out of his water bottle, the last thing he wants to think about today – _are you mental, this is an international game, you’ve been so excited when they called you up for this series, now DO YOUR ACTUAL JOB, JOSEPH_ – suddenly comes back to him.

How are Somerset doing today? It has been a while since Joe had a look at the County Championship results, to be honest (proving Cooky right – international cricket does keep you so busy that you just do not have the time to follow the county matches as well). Which does make feel him just a tiny bit guilty ( _why, exactly? You don’t owe him anything, he’s just a mate_ ).

“What are you thinking about, Rooty?” Matt, flicking through a novel, asks.

Joe tries to come up with a normal answer. “Nothing much. Was just wondering how my mates at Yorkshire were going today. I do still need to wrap my head around it. I’m here at Headingley, but I’m not playing with them.”

Matt nods. “I know the feeling. We could ask Andy at lunch if you want.”

“Please do,” Jonny, who has just come back indoors to look for his hat, agrees. “I haven’t heard a thing.”

_And maybe I can have a peek over at Somerset’s results…._

_ABSOLUTELY NOT._

A disappointed groan from the stands.

“Shit,” Matt sighs. “Who’s out, lads?” he calls in the direction of the balcony.

“Compo!” Steve replies.  Matt grits his teeth in sympathy. “Not again. That’s not gonna help him if he wants to make a case for himself for the Ashes.”

_The Ashes._

The thought alone is enough to send a shiver down Joe’s spine. The most prestigious test series of them all. Like any cricket-loving boy in England, Joe still recalls watching the thrilling finish to the Edgbaston test eight years ago. And the raucous celebrations at the Oval as Michael Vaughan lifted the urn, ending a nineteen years long – draught.

 _That was the first night I dreamt about it. What it would be like to be there myself._ A dream that has accompanied Joe ever since, has popped up time and time again over the last few years.

Less than two months ago before the battle for the urn begins again. _And I have been playing a few tests so far. And Andy Flower told me I’ve got a good mindset. That that’s gonna take me far. And then –_ Joe feels his cheeks beginning to glow again – _there was Cooky last week._

It happened after nets practice, while Ali and Joe were waiting for Matt who had given them a lift to the training ground in the morning (“Absolutely no need to hurry, Rooty, Matt takes forever in the shower.”). They had just gone over the most likely New Zealand set-ups, discussing Brendon McCullum’s approach and a few ideas about their tactics.

And in the middle of it, Ali stopped and smiled at Joe. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself at your age.”

It was said so full of conviction that it took Joe a minute to react.

Even now, he is not entirely sure how his captain meant it. Was he just trying to compare their approaches out in the middle? Or Joe’s opinions on the ideal amount of spin bowlers in English conditions? Or – was this a hint Joe could be called up for the Ashes?

Or something else entirely?

 _Stop overthinking, Joe,_ he tells himself while there is another frustrated noise from outdoors.

“Who’s it now?” Matt asks and throws the skin of his banana into the nearest wastepaper basket.

“Trotty!” Stuart reports with a sigh. “Oh well, shit happens.” Matt says and clears his towel and socks from Jonathan’s spot on the bench. “Over to you then, Ronald.”

 

Slightly nervous, Joe leaves the dressing room and takes a seat next to Jonny on the balcony. “Still plenty of time.” Jonny reassures him. “I know. But it’s not even lunch.” Joe whispers and stares down on the pitch. Crosses his fingers. _Come on lads. Only one over to go._

New Zealand bring on Doug Bracewell for the next over … and his first ball is too good for Ali.

“Shit.” Joe says quietly, feeling his stomach sink. Half in sympathy, half because of his nerves. “Go well, Rooty.” Matt squeezes Joe’s shoulder. “See out the over and you can steady the ship after lunch.”

“I’ll do my best.” Joe tries to sound confident even though he is feeling far from it. Pads up. Double-checks everything. “Just five more balls.” Swanny, giving Joe a thumbs-up, calls behind him as Joe leaves the changing room.

As luck would have it, Joe passes Ali on the staircase. Who is evidently furious with himself, but – as a good captain does – takes a moment to put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “See out the over. Don’t worry. It’s your home ground, you’ll be fine.” Ali says and smiles at Joe.

Feeling indefinitely more confident, Joe makes his way out into the middle.

An image flashes before his mind’s eye after he has bumped gloves with Ian. Light brown short hair, striking grey eyes, a stunning smile and dimples.

 _I’m a hopeless case._ Joe shakes his head and pads the ground with his bat. Game on.

 

Lunch is a quiet affair. A brief analysis of the first two sessions – without arguments, much to Joe’s surprise (maybe because Kev isn’t here), Swanny and Jonathan go to buy sandwiches for everyone, a few short chats and attempts to lighten the mood.

All the while, Jimmy continues to sleep undisturbedly in the corner of the room, curled up under his vest and something that looks like a hotel towel.

“I have no idea how he does that.” Jonny laughs while Joe and he pad up again. “He’s got a lot of practice.” Swanny says. “Needs his beauty sleep, our Jimmy.” “Oh yes.” Stuart can not resist but add. “Make sure you don’t come anywhere near him, Joe. If you thought he’s grumpy, you haven’t experienced accidentally-stirred-up-from-sleep Jimmy. You don’t want to, trust me.”

Ali helps Joe adjust his helmet. “You okay?”

“Yep.” Joe smiles. “Sandwich was good. Ready to go big.”

“Tell you what,” Ali lowers his voice so only Joe can hear him, “I’ve got a feeling it’s your day today.”

“What do you … oh.” Goosebumps on Joe’s arms. “You sure?” Ali nods and smiles. “Off with you.”

 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Joe’s half-century draws the first really loud applause of the day. _No surprise_ , he thinks with a grin while he waves his bat at the stands. _That’s half my classmates, my parents, Billy and his girlfriend, my aunt and uncle and my grandma up there._

It does feel special to play a test at home. On a ground where you probably know every blade of grass.

While the runs keep adding up, Joe feels himself relax more and more. Exchanges a few words with Jonny at the end of each over, even has time for an appreciative “shot” when Jonny hits a ball particularly well. _Cooky was on to something. I have no idea how he does that._

 

Ninety-six. Just four. Four runs to Joe’s first Test century.

 “Focus.” Joe tells himself quietly. Takes a deep breath, feels his heartbeat slow down.  

_I could go for slip this time._

 

And he does, an effortless chip between both New Zealand slip fielders. For a few seconds, Joe thinks he should run a single in case someone grabs the ball before it hits the …

The ground erupts.

Joe has spent some time thinking about it, true. Has watched the rest of his teammates celebrate, tried to come up with something of his own. Spent this morning on his run arguing with himself about it.

But now, in the spur of the moment, all he can think of – all that makes sense – is a metre-high jump in the air. And a fist pump.

_Never mind getting your first cap. Or walking out to the middle for the first time with the Three Lions on your shirt._

_This. This is the best feeling in the world._

There is a weird noise from the stands. Joe strains his ears. A new Barmy Army song? For him? Now?

The next thing he knows, Jonny comes sprinting over, hugs him proudly. “Hear that, Joey?” he laughs while he pounds Joe’s back. “Yeah, but I can’t understand it!” Joe echoes Jonny’s laughter.

“Listen!” Jonny squeezes Joe’s shoulder.

The strange noise becomes louder and louder, sounding like the entire audience has joined in.

“Rooooooooooooooooooot!”

 _Oh my word._ Joe does not know what to think. Does not know if he wants to disappear right into the ground. _I should be embarrassed by it. But I love it. I absolutely bloody love it._

 

Joe takes off his helmet as he has seen so many other, better, more experienced batsmen, do. Gives the Three Lions on the dark blue plastic a short kiss. Raises his bat and his helmet, waves it at the stands. Looks for his mum and dad, sees them in their usual seat, waving proudly. Billy has his face buried behind his new camera, takes – _hopefully_ – as many photos of the historic moment as he can.

Joe’s eyes flick over to the balcony. Everyone – it seems – has gotten to their feet, applauds him, is delighted for him. Matt – that bald tome has to be their wicketkeeper’s  - gives him a double thumbs-up. Even Jimmy has joined the little crowd on the balcony.

 

And a pair of warm dark brown eyes meet Joe’s.   _Told you so,_ Ali seems to say.

 

Eventually the celebrations die down again. “Next one’s yours if you want,” Joe tells Jonny. Takes a deep breath, tells himself that this is only the beginning. That he can not allow himself to get complacent. That they still have not won anything yet.

A thought crosses Joe’s mind while he marks his crease at the non-striker’s end.

  _I wish he could have seen it too._

_Now? Now of all times, Joseph?_

Joe rolls his eyes.

_You can text him after stumps if you absolutely have to._

It is probably – _strike the “probably”, you idiot_ – precisely that moment that does for Joe in the end. Prevents him from reaching even dizzier heights.

Still, 332-7 is a decent enough score for the first day. And so, a satisfied England team climbs back in the bus after stumps, already looking forward to the excellent hotel buffet and, at least according to Jimmy, some much-deserved chocolate ice cream. Which elicits a magnificent eye-roll from Jonathan. “Remind me again what you were doing all day, James?” he says, barely stifling a laugh.

“Nothing, no thanks to you, Trotty.” Jimmy shoots back with a delighted glint in his eyes, very much up for the challenge. Joe glances to Cooky at the end of the bus – “you’re okay with them winding each other up like that?”. And gets a shrug and a laugh in return.

“Things are going well if Trotty and Jimmy talk to each other in that way,” Steve explains to Joe while he hands him a chocolate bar. “Least I could do, you centurion! How does it feel?”

“Thanks Finny. Hasn’t sunk in yet to be fair. But it was absolutely brilliant.” Joe beams. Takes a bite off the quite delicious slightly bitter candy, enjoys the taste.

“You were brilliant out there.” Ian tells Joe. “Get used to it, it won’t be the last time!”

Joe acknowledges the praise with a mildly sheepish smile. Looks down at his phone, still blowing up with texts – now the rest of his county teammates have caught up with the results, it seems.

_But still nothing from him. Well, he does actually have a private life, Joseph._

 

Back at the hotel, Joe has a quick shower and then joins the others downstairs for dinner. Helps himself  to everything that looks good, makes a mental note of it all – _I could take my dad to this restaurant for his birthday_. Joins in the chat, the banter, with delight.

_I’m beginning to feel at home with these lads._

But just as he gets up for his second helping of ice cream – Jimmy was right, it really is special– a buzz shoots through his right leg. His phone. Vibrating. Someone is calling him right now, in the middle of dinner. Maybe his granddad. Has to be his granddad. He probably just watched it on the TV news.

Joe takes his phone out of his pocket. His heart starts to pound and he feels heat coursing through his veins as he stares at the touchscreen, half in disbelief, hardly daring to register the three familiar letters.

_Jos. It’s Jos. Does this mean he knows?_

Taking care not to run, Joe turns on his heels and hurries out of the dining room as fast as his legs can carry him. Hardly registers an “ow” and a very familiar soft chuckle behind him.

 

Looks for a quiet spot in the expansive hotel lobby, settles into an armchair before he picks up. Tries to calm himself, does not want to sound too much out of breath.

“Hi?” _Stupidly squeaky stupid annoying voice._

“Hey, Joe! Are you busy?” _You know that does things to me, Jos, it really does. I could listen to you for hours. I’ll never tell you that, though._

“Not at all, we just finished dinner,” Joe laughs. “How’s your day been? You done with the Sussex game yet? I haven’t really had time to look at the results.”

There is an odd sound at the other end of the line. Something like a sigh. “I … don’t remind me.”

“That bad? Sorry to hear,” Joe tells Jos and means it.

“Yeah, it was one of those days,” Jos laughs slightly embarrassedly. “But never mind me. Congrats on your first test century, Joe! I wanted to send you a text but then I decided I had to tell you in person.”

“Thanks.” Joe hopes Jos cannot hear he is beaming. “So … does that mean you saw it?”

“I did. I’ve got the house to myself until tomorrow.”

_No, Joseph, that does not mean Craig’s no longer with him. This isn’t a bloody romantic comedy. Nothing’s going to happen with Jos and you._

“That sounds nice.” Joe replies instead.

“It was. I went to the gym for a bit, had lunch with my parents and then watched all of the afternoon sessions. Beautiful shot by the way.” “Which one?” Joe grins. “The one you brought your ton up with.” “Thanks, that really was a one-off, I don’t play it that often.” “Worked out alright, though.”

“It did.” Joe stretches his legs out on the floor.

“So what does it feel like? Tell me.” Jos asks. “Oh come on, you’ve scored centuries of your own, haven’t you?” Joe replies. _Don’t keep me talking, I’ll just make an arse out of myself._

“I have,” Jos laughs softly and the butterflies in Joe’s belly whirl around. “But I’ve definitely never got a ton in an international game. So, tell me. What was it like? And did I hear that correctly on the telly? They’re now chanting your name?”

“Yes, they do. Okay, I’ll tell you about it, but this could take a while.”

“I…” – a sound like a cup of tea being put onto a coffee table – “I’ve got plenty of time.”

 _So do I,_ Joe smiles to himself. _Anything to keep this phone call going._

Joe has lost track of time when he eventually, with his ear burning from holding his phone and his right hand feeling more than a little stiff, wishes Jos a good night ( _mine’s definitely gonna be good,_ he smirks. Knows one of his favourite dreams since the India tour will probably make an appearance tonight).

Promises to call Jos back tomorrow after stumps, wishes him “all the best, up to a point” for Somerset’s next game in the County Championship against Yorkshire. Which earns him another of these really lovely giggles.

As he gets up and tries to remember where he left his room keys in the morning – didn’t Matt say he was going to hang on to them? – Joe realises he is being watched.

Curiously he turns around and sees – his captain. Leaning against the wall across from Joe, giving him one of these sincere smiles ( _my word, he is handsome when he smiles_ ). “Something up, Cooky?” Joe wanders over to him, putting on his best casual look.

“So, does Billy know everything about scoring a century yet?” Cooky laughs.

“What… no, that wasn’t Billy,” Joe replies quickly. _DO NOT BLUSH NOW._

His captain looks puzzled. “Really thought you were chatting to your brother. That looked like one of those discussions Adrian and me always used to have.”

“Did you? You never told me.” Joe tilts his head and grins.

“No, I was talking to Jos – he says hi by the way. They’re playing Yorkshire on Tuesday.” _Well done. That came across as normal as you could have hoped._

“Jos?” Cooky raises an eyebrow. “So you get along fine with him?” “Brilliantly fine. We’ve kept in touch since our return from India and he’s become a mate.”

“That’s great. But then he’s definitely one of those lads that you just get along with.” Cooky smiles and puts a hand on Joe’s shoulder.  “Any plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Why are you asking?” Joe retorts. _Stop being so silly around him, Joseph,_ he tells himself. Swallows another sigh.

“I was wondering if you’d like to watch  a bit of House MD with me. Got the DVD from Steve and I’m doing my best to bring myself up to speed.” Cooky smiles.

“Of course, I love that series.” Joe replies with a smile matching his captain’s.

“After you then,” Cooky throws Joe his room key – “Matt passed it on to me, he’s gone for a drink with Stu and Trotty,” and turns in the direction of the lift. “I’ve still got some crisps left from last night. Just don’t tell Jimmy.” he adds with a conspiratory grin.

“Not a word.” Joe laughs and looks up at Cooky while they wait for the lift.

“It’s been a fantastic day. But why were you so sure about it after lunch?” The question has been nagging at the back of Joe’s mind for a few hours now.

Cooky thinks about his answer for a while.

 

“Batsmen’s union, Joe,” he eventually replies with a fond smile as they step into the cabin together.

Puts an arm around Joe’s shoulders.

“I know the signs of a centurion when I see them.”


	5. A step forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 2013, Taunton.  
> On his 23rd birthday, Jos received a phone call that has unsettled him more than everything that happened over the last 18 months.  
> Lancashire want to sign him. As their first-choice wicket keeper.
> 
> Should he do it? It would be a logical step forward.  
> Then again, Somerset is his home. Can he really leave all of it behind? Including his boyfriend?  
> And why on earth can he talk to Joe about it, but not Craig?

The sun is shining.

Of course it is. Today. Of all days.

On any other day, Jos would have enjoyed the sight. The first blue skies in a while. Bathing his garden and the small semi-detached houses in his street in that especially lovely soft light that always heralds the end of summer, out here in South-West England. And the beginning of autumn. Jos’ favourite season in all the twenty-three years he has spent on this planet.

On any other day, Jos would have stopped to pick up a leaf from his neighbour’s oak tree while he carried his kitbag to his car. One that would have already changed its colour, turned that special shade of yellow – or maybe even orange-red – that, without doubt, would set the entire countryside alight in the next couple of days.

On any other day, Jos would have taken a moment to enjoy the sight – and then placed the leaf carefully on the dashboard of his car, on the passenger’s side. Where it would have kept him company for the last remaining games of the county season.  A habit he had always been anxious to keep to himself, for fear of being ridiculed by his teammates. Until that one day last spring when Meschy gave him a lift back home when Jos’ car was at the garage. And Jos – to his slight amusement – saw a bunch of dried dandelions in the glove compartment of Meschy’s car.

On any other of those last days of summer, Jos would have made plans for the rest of the day. A walk around Vivary Park, or maybe just a lazy afternoon in his own garden with a jug of apple juice and a good book. Just long enough to watch the sun go down. Enjoy life. And go back indoors before it starts to get really chilly.

 

But today, while he navigates his car along the so familiar roads, trying to decide whether or not he should make a quick stop for a coffee before training begins – by his standards, he is extremely early (he has to laugh imagining Tresco’s face when he arrives – at 10 am sharp, as usual – and finds Jos’ car already in the parking lot) – Jos feels as if the weather has it out for him. As if the sunshine, the stunningly beautiful sky (it was probably days like today that gave people the idea to call that particular colour “sky blue”), the gentle still warm breeze – as if that was all done on purpose. To make him question himself once again. For the 26th time since last night.

 

Yawning, he stops in front of a red light. Casts his eyes over his surroundings.

There. That white house with the blue door. That was where his former sports teacher used to live.  How many Wednesday afternoons did Jos spend there, in the garden, working on his stance at the crease and trying to improve his reaction time? He has lost count. Sadly, Mr. Andrews did not see his young protegé making his first-class debut (almost five years ago, time has flown) for Somerset, a particularly aggressive lung cancer having carried him off in less than a year.

What would his old mentor say to Jos’ current situation? Not long ago, Jos was perfectly able to recall the Welshman’s voice, raspy by years of chain-smoking. But now, while he keeps his eyes fixed on that blue door on the other side of the road, he finds it impossible to remember.

_Perhaps I have moved on. Or – maybe I’m just too distracted. Too emotional._

Jos blinks back a tear and – only just – realises the traffic light has turned green. Changes gears, turns left. One and three-quarter (as his sister always says) eyes on the road, he drives on, past a row of almost identical Edwardian buildings, immaculate small gardens with hedges and – of course, because even the most stubborn of stereotypes are rooted in a bit of truth – plenty of apple and pear trees. All looking very much ready to let go of their fruit, bring about the busiest time of year in Somerset – cider season.

_I am going to miss that next year._

Now there definitely is a lump in his throat. With a deep sigh, Jos swallows hard, tries his best to think of something else. _Have I just admitted it to myself?_

Not helpful. Not at all. Not ahead of two hours of training, trying his best to convince Marcus to give him another chance for the upcoming game against Surrey. _I can’t make them suspicious. Until the end of the month, I am still playing for Somerset. I still have a job to do here._

 

Another yawn escapes him. He stops just short of rubbing his eyes. Looks at the clock on his car radio. 15 minutes. Probably still time for a detour to the bakery. For his usual café latte and croissant. A little chat with the baker, one of his former classmates. Letting the myriads of smells in the cramped room, just wide enough for a display case, a cash register, a few high shelves and a coffee machine – one of those posh ones with steam (Jos will never figure out just how they work, but the coffee does taste more expensive) – wake him up properly. Gather a few ideas for a birthday cake for his brother – still five weeks to go but Jos likes to organise birthdays as early as possible. Give Dan, the baker, some tips for his village cricket game on the upcoming Sunday. Routine. Calming, comforting routine.

Slightly uncertainly, he hovers on the corner of the road. If he wants to grab a coffee, he has to turn right just here. Park his car across the road from the bakery, wander over, greet Dan’s “Morning, Jojo, your usual?” with a smile and a nod. As he has done so many times since his days in the Somerset Second XI.

Perhaps he really should go. To distract himself from the question that has been eating at him since his 23rd birthday last Sunday. To convince his mind (could it please shut up just about now, that would be perfect) that this is just another ordinary training day.

 

Then again, things have stopped being ordinary a while ago. Since last December in fact.

When Jos, who up until then had tried to tell himself that he would be in and out of the England set-up for a while until he gained more experience, was called up for the ODI series in India. And flew out to Mumbai just a week before Christmas. A day too late to watch the Test team complete a memorable series victory over the best side in the world. But – as it turned out – not too late to be right in the middle of it. And really make the most of those few weeks at the beginning of the year.

“We’d like you to remain our first-choice wicketkeeper in the ODI team.”

Even today, almost three months later, Jos feels his cheeks beginning to heat up when he thinks about that particular moment. The England team had just finished a mildly excruciating post-mortem after losing the ICC Champions Trophy final to Australia (of all opponents). At the end of which, the coaches told Jos to stay in the changing room, that they had something to tell him in private.

Jos, still embarrassed now, turned bright red and muttered thanks. Took several attempts to ask Andy Flower if he was allowed to leave, that he would really like to call his parents.

 

That was the day Jos’ current predicament began in earnest, he realises as he reverses his car and continues down the road to the training ground ( _typical, you wasted too much time up your own head. Once again. Dan will wonder if you’ve fallen ill._ ).

With an unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach, Jos remembers the argument he had with Craig a few days later. Far from the first time they had fought about it.

For the past two years, their relationship has had to deal with unexpected pressure, both of them realising that they were, by now,  essentially competing for the same spots with both their county and England. That they would, as much as they tried to convince themselves otherwise, always feel a slight tinge of jealousy when they watched their partner take to the field, watched him throw himself around in the grass trying to catch white leather ball after white leather ball. While they had, initially, both successfully managed to push those feelings to one side, tried to be supportive, in recent months they had started to let their discomfort show. And ended up in more petty arguments than not.

Arguments, including their current one (over something as minor as their coffee reserves running out on a Tuesday evening and neither of them having realised it in time to buy some on the way home), that took longer and longer to resolve.

 

So, it was really no surprise that Jos still has not told Craig about the phone call he got last Sunday, while the entire family had been sitting in Jos’ sister’s garden, eating ice-cream and laughing at childhood photos of all  three siblings.

A friendly, very distinctly Northern – Lancastrian – voice wished Jos a happy birthday. And went on to explain that Lancashire had been keeping tabs on him for a while, that the county was on the lookout for a good wicketkeeper and that long story short, they knew Jos was out of a contract at the end of the month and would he be willing to make the move up north? If so, he had to call back by September 20.

It all happened too fast for Jos. He was barely able to register all information – “and you’d be able to train with some of the country’s best bowlers, Jimmy Anderson first and foremost” – and only just managed to squeeze in a “thanks, I’ll give it a thought” at the end of the call.

When Jos hung up, he was trembling. His anxiety, a constant companion in the past five years, but thankfully unusually silent since India, chose that exact moment to rear its head again. To yell at him to “stop falling for it, someone was playing tricks on you, they can’t have really seen you, why on earth would they really think a 23 year-old who still has not made his test debut for England would really be fit for one of the biggest counties in the championship.” Kept him rooted on the spot. Light-headed.

Somehow, Jos passed the nausea, the no doubt quite pale look on his face, off as “had too much cake, sorry, mum.” His parents, bless them, asked no further questions. Fetched him one of the old pale-yellow deckchairs and a jug of water, followed by one of his grandma’s favourite herbal concoctions.

 

Since Sunday, Jos has thought about little else.

And now, as he carefully places his car just in the middle of the two white lines underlining his parking spot – number 61, as usual – he realises something. As clearly as he has never seen it before. Definitely not last night, during another one of those energy-sapping sleepless 7 hours (at least that was what his alarm told him when he set it before he switched the light off. In fact, he can’t have slept more than four).

_I should do it._

He allows himself to follow the thought. Tries to imagine arriving at the County Ground not by car, but in a Lancashire bus, having gotten up at 7 am, not his usual 8-30. Looks down on his tracksuit, tries to see a red rose instead of the dragon. A dragon that Jos, to his eternal pride, taught himself to draw when he was only 10 years old.

_I really should do it. For my own sake. And it would be best for Craig and me. Maybe we’ll get a better grip on our situation if we don’t see each other every day._

_I really should. But can I?_

 

A car horn honks.

Startled, Jos turns around and sees a dark red Peugeot drive past him, a figure on the driver’s seat gives him a cheerful wave. _Marcus._

All of a sudden, the doubts are back in full force.

Marcus – has been Jos’ rock, his principal supporter, his “older brother” since Jos first broke into the Somerset First XI. No matter how many hang-ups Jos had about his form, no matter how often he sat in the changing room with his bat in his hands, too anxious to focus. Marcus has always been there. Has very quickly figured out how to look after Jos. With an arm around his shoulders, usually. Or a thumbs-up from the balcony. Or – and Jos still has not figured out how to make it up to him – many, many extra hours in the nets and on the field. Giving Jos throwdowns, offering valuable advice on his technique.

 _Can I really leave Banger? Who am I going to talk to when the nerves become too much? Am I going to find someone as patient, as gentle, as – odd (_ he laughs to himself) _as Marcus is up in Lancashire?_

Taking a deep breath and trying to set his face into something approaching “tired, but up for training”, Jos gets out of the car and goes to fetch his kitbag from the back seat. _I need to talk to him. Before I do anything else. Even though it’s not going to be easy._

Marcus, having parked his car right next to the footpath that leads to the dressing room, ambles over, a surprised but satisfied grin on his face. “Morning, Jos.” he says as he comes closer. “Good to see you do occasionally listen to me. Set your alarm a bit earlier today, did you?” he adds in a slightly mocking tone.

A pat on the back. Firm but friendly. Jos has no choice but to echo his captain’s grin. “That – and Kiesy’s had to babysit his godson last night, so I did not have to listen to his snoring.” he replies, giving Marcus a matey shove. Hopes that did not sound suspicious. _The last thing I need today is him finding out about our private problems. I need to do good today or they aren’t going to pick me for Sunday._

“Sounds good,” Marcus says, but he sounds far from convinced. A sidelong glance, a barely perceptible raised eyebrow. Jos chooses not to reply. Knows he would not be able to stop himself from spilling everything out at the same time – and, as an all-to familiar stinging feeling in his eyes tells him, really letting go of that lump in his throat. _Not. Now._

Desperate to change the subject, Jos takes his brand-new glasses case out of his kitbag, opens it and shows it to Marcus. “My dad gave them to me on Sunday,” he says, taking the sunglasses out and holding them up so they can reflect the light. “Cool.” Marcus says appreciatively. “How are they different from your old ones, though?” “The lenses are grey. Apparently, that makes it easier to spot the red ball when I’m fielding. Haven’t tested them yet.” Jos replies, opening the door to the changing room.

“A smart idea. I’d like to try them out as well, I could do with a  new pair.” Marcus says and puts his kitbag on the bench, in his usual spot. “Sure, I’ll pass them on to you.” Jos unties his shoelaces.

 

The rest of the lads arrive. Alex and Hildy, in the middle of discussing yet another one of those odd European black-and-white films they are so fond of. Craig, greeting Jos with a smile, apparently having used last night to vent his feelings and ready to patch things up between them once again. Lewis, Alfonso, Compo (fresh from the hairdresser’s, no doubt, but Jos once again wonders if there are any mirrors in Nick’s house).  Leachy, whistling off-key as he always does. And – last of all, looking more effortlessly handsome than ever - Peter. Tregs.

Jos’ first crush. Even though it is more than six years since that embarrassing night out, the memory is enough to make Jos cringe. Tregs let him down extremely gently. Tried his best to explain that he “did not like boys like that, but that he felt honoured Jos had confided in him.”

Jos, unable to reply, texted his dad to pick him up from the bar. And as soon as they arrived back home, Jos disappeared into his room. Slammed the door shut. Fell face first onto the mattress.

And sobbed his eyes out until he eventually fell asleep.

For a few weeks, things remained awkward. Jos was barely able to look Tregs in the eye  (more than annoying, considering they were training partners back then), did not dare to laugh at one of his many mildly embarrassing dad-jokes. Kept what little chat there was strictly business-like.

It had taken a comprehensive defeat for the First XI to calm the waves again. A defeat (was it against Lancs? What an irony if it was), a pity party at Leachy’s place, full of too many beers, popcorn, 3 am kebabs and chats. Long chats. And the most excruciating hangover of Jos’ life.

Tregs and Jos have been best friends ever since.

 

 _I know all of them so well._ Jos thinks while he fiddles with his helmet, adjusts the straps on his gloves. Gives himself a once-over in the mirror, laughs at Hildy’s impression of Blowers, ducks out of the way of a sock fizzing past his ear (Lewis, no doubt). _They’ve been there, in various ways, since the beginning._

_They are my lads. My friends. We’ve been through so much together._

It is enough to make him well up once again.

_And I’m supposed to play against them next year? I’m supposed to try and distract Hildy when he’s batting? And not celebrate one of Leachy’s excellent spin balls?_

_I don’t think I can do this._ Jos swallows and closes his eyes. Is eternally grateful for his sunglasses.

 

“Ready lads?” Marcus asks. Varieties on “Yessir.” ring across the changing room.

“Right, off we go.”

 

Glad for something to do, Jos follows his teammates out on the field. Busies himself with stretching, giving Compo throwdowns, doing a thorough appreciation of the pitch (hopes it will dry out until the weekend, it was about time Leachy had his favourite conditions again).

Throughout the morning, Jos can not shake off a strange feeling. As if he was in the middle of a documentary on Somerset’s County Championship season, watching himself on the telly. Watching his teammates practice catches, tweak their fielding set-ups.

_As if I’m telling myself “this is what’s going to happen next year.” As if I’ve already made up my mind._

 

“Joshua?”

Marcus. That fond, slightly exasperate tone his captain always falls into whenever Jos has not paid attention. Marcus knows all too well that Jos does not like that version of his first name, but even someone as serious and business-like as Banger can not resist a bit of banter every now and then.

_I’d miss that so much._

“Yes, granddad?” Jos replies, hopes his grin looked natural, ordinary. Hears a few sniggers behind him, gets a pat on the shoulder from Tregs and a “only you can get away with that”.

“I just told Craig we’re each going to bowl at the two of you in turn.” Marcus replies, giving Jos a stern look – only slightly set off by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “As usual, try and vary your catches.”

“Right.” Jos makes his way across to Craig. Who chooses that exact moment to whisper “sorry about Monday. I bought coffee this morning.” And flash him one of Jos’ favourite smiles. “Don’t mention it.” Jos whispers back, matching his boyfriend’s smile. “You want to go first?”

 

As they finish training, the last remaining clouds have disappeared. Enjoying the warmth of the sun on his arms and hands, Jos takes off his gloves and rolls his sleeves up. Tries to hang back while the lads leave the field. Watches them, listens to their jokes, to the fiftieth edition of The Champions League Betting Pool (something Jos has always stayed out of. He knows his football, true, but he has never felt confident enough to make predictions).

_And I’m supposed to leave all of this behind?_

_Oh for heaven’s sake, Jos, make up your mind. You still have nine days, true. But the sooner, the better._

 

An arm snakes around his shoulders. Snaps him back into reality.

Marcus looks at him, concerned. “I know something’s up. You’re not yourself at all.” he tells Jos kindly.

For a minute or two, Jos does not know what to reply. Feels the tears threatening to break out. Knows Marcus would not judge him (it is far from the first time he has been there for Jos when Jos has had a bad day). At the same time, Jos is also incredibly afraid of his reaction.

“Let’s sit down for a bit,” Marcus offers, pointing to a bench at the far end of the field. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. But I don’t think you should be on your own right now.”

Jos swallows a sob. Follows Marcus across the field, takes his helmet off, lets it drop on the grass. Sits down, keeps his eyes fixed on the dragon painted on his dark-red helmet. Tries to breathe in and out. Blinks. _Don’t. Just don’t._

Marcus’ arm is still around his shoulders. His hand strokes Jos’ right forearm.

“What’s up?” he asks again.

Jos gathers the little courage he has. Tries to avoid his captain’s eyes.

“I think … I have an …. oh for fuck’s sake. Marcus, there’s something you should know.” he says quietly. Tries to count the blades of grass directly under his right foot. Anything to keep his voice steady.

Marcus is silent for a while. “You had an offer from another county, right?”

“How.” Jos croaks. His eyes are now definitely starting to fill up. Making it impossible to see anything.

“Don’t forget I’ve been in this job for a while. And I know you. I watched you this morning. True, you’ve always had your head in the clouds…” – an affectionate chuckle – “… but I thought something was odd about you today. I watched you look around. Almost as if you were trying to memorise everything on the ground. Trying to bid it farewell.”

There is only a faint shimmer in Marcus’ eyes. “Who is it, Jos?” he asks softly.

“Lancs.” Jos manages. “I’d be first-choice wicket keeper for them.”

“Congratulations.” “What?” Jos can not believe his ears.

“I meant that.” Marcus holds Jos a little tighter. “Lancashire. That’s one of those opportunities you just have to take. Because they only come knocking at your door once. And it would be perfect for your international career.”

“I haven’t decided anything yet.” Jos admits.

“But you’re tempted.” Marcus tells him. “I can see that. I mean, I would be at your age. And let’s be honest, you made such a giant leap forward over the last 18 months. You are brilliant. It’s time for you to really test yourself. And that’s something we can’t offer you here.”

Jos tilts his head and looks up at his captain. Who is giving him one of those sincere Marcus-smiles. Full of affection, mild concern (as usual) and support. “You really mean that, don’t you?” he asks a little hoarsely.

“I do, Joshua. I mean – in the end it’s up to you. But … I think you should do it.” Marcus says and gives Jos’ shoulder a squeeze. “And don’t worry. I’ll still be there for you. Whenever you need me. Even when we play your new lot.”

Jos lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Thanks.”

“Always. Now off with you. Don’t keep Kiesy waiting any longer. And … let me know when you’ve come to a decision.”

“I will.” Jos promises and hurries off the field.

 

 _Kiesy. Now there’s something I haven’t thought about._ At some point in the next couple of days, Jos knows he has to tell his boyfriend. And – as much as he tries to tell himself Craig will be nothing but supportive, maybe even see the advantages of it, Jos has no idea how Craig will actually react.

_He might be jealous. He might think it was my idea. That I’m using this to get an edge on him. It could mean yet another argument. And we’ve just made up again._

Jos steps out of the shower and dries himself off. Looks in the mirror, sizes up his arm muscles. _I could do with a few extra hours in the gym until Sunday. Still “not quite the full package,” as Tregs put it._

 “You coming, Jossy?”

“Sure!” Jos replies hurriedly.

_No, I’ll keep it to myself for the next couple of days. Best not to disturb our new-found peace._

_For the time being. And then I’ll find a quiet moment to talk to him._

_After all we’ve been together for four and a half years. If I can’t be honest with him …_

Over the rest of the afternoon, Jos is able to push the Red Rose far away from his thoughts. After an excellent lunch at their favourite Indian restaurant (the closest they could find to actual Indian cuisine out here), Jos and Craig go for a long walk in Vivary Park, making the most of the late summer sunshine. Stop for an ice cream on the way home, even find a birthday present for Jos’ niece.

“I’ll have an early night.” Craig tells Jos as they are cuddled up on the sofa, watching a few episodes of Scrubs (somehow, in recent weeks, they have almost made it through the entire third and fourth season. For the sixth time. Tregs would be proud.). “Mason kept me up until 11:30 last night.” he adds and yawns widely. “Let me guess … he wanted you to read all of “Paddington Abroad” before he fell asleep?” Jos laughs.  “Bingo.” Craig smiles,  extracts himself from Jos’ arms and gets up. Yawns again. “Keep the volume down please.” “Sure.” Jos reaches up to give his boyfriend a kiss. “Sleep well. And don’t …” “Snore?” Craig laughs. “I’ll try my best, Jossy.”

 

As soon as Craig has closed the door to the living room – almost as if it was waiting for Jos to be on his own – there is an unmistakeable “meow” coming from his phone. _Tregs, you silly sod. That was what you meant when you told me you were “just going to install an app” last week?_

Chuckling to himself, Jos turns the sound down and opens the message. Joe. Of course.

**how’s the Jos? :D**

_Thanks a bunch, Swanny._ Ever since Swanny casually “happened to mention” in Joe’s earshot that “how’s the Josh?” was an Indian greeting, Joe could not resist dropping it into one of his texts on a daily basis.

**still. not. funny.**

**aw, I thought u’d learned a thing or two from me. so anyway, how’s life treating u?**

**quite good. hoping they let me play on sunday.**

**they r stupid if they don’t, u r too good.**

**thanks. :) tell u what – it might be one of my last games for somerset**

_What’s gotten into you, Jos? Have you forgotten who Joe plays for?_

**???**

_I could just leave it at that. Let him find out with the rest of the country. On what planet does he deserve to know ahead of my own boyfriend._

**got an offer. might accept it. not sure yet.**

**who’s it from? US??? PLEASE TELL ME IT’S US. we could do with a decent keeper.**

Briefly, Jos entertains the thought. Can just about picture Joe’s face, grinning widely, rubbing his hands in that way he always does when he thinks he is on to something. Has to laugh when he thinks about the face Joe is about to make.

 **other side of the pennines,** he types with a laugh.

**what?**

**not ur lot. them.**

**U KIDDING ME?????????????????**

About three minutes of silence follow. Jos tries to stifle his laughter. Knows that really upset Joe’s patriotic sensibilities (but there’s something indefinitely funny when Joe gets wound up about the Roses rivalry. Something Jimmy in particular seems to enjoy).

Just as he wonders if Joe has fallen asleep – or, more likely – is off sulking, his phone buzzes again. A photo message, Jos reads on the screen. Opens it, curiously.

It is a screen shot of a Star Trek episode. Captain Picard, in his command chair, covering his face with his right hand. “The original facepalm,” Jos hears Tregs explain. Grins. An almost mature reaction by Joe’s standards.

**no I’m not. they want me. should I do it?**

**u know who u’re asking, right?**

**of course. most yorkshireman to have ever yorkshire’d.**

**is that a word?**

**don’t ask me.**

**and I thought u had ur a levels in English.**

**no idea.**

**so what are u asking me for?**

**could do with some advice.**

**…. u obviously don’t know me all that well yet.**

**joe.**

**…. this goes against everything I ever believed in. but … yes. I think u should. could give u a leg up w/England. not that Im an expert when it comes to that, its barely been a year.**

**thanks. :)**

**let me know what u decide. go well on Sunday. :)**

**u too. sleep tight :)**

Smiling to himself, Jos plugs his phone into the charger on the wall next to the sofa. That was as helpful as he could have hoped. Even though he still wonders why he could not stop himself from telling Joe.

Then again, Joe really has become a good friend in the last couple of months. They text each other at least every three days, Joe kept Jos up to date on all the events in the England camp during the Ashes – so much so that Jos felt he was there with him – and they increasingly seek each other’s advice.

 _Let’s hope he rubs off on me a bit. Could do with his optimism._ Jos tells himself and puts in a new DVD. _Two more episodes and then time for bed. And I’ll tell Craig after the Surrey game._

In the end, he does not.

Even as they celebrate a seven-wicket win, even as they go into the final round full of optimism  (a rare feeling in this season), Jos can not bring himself to tell Craig.

Not even after he calls the Lancashire management back on September 15 (Craig having gone to the movies with Alex), telling them in a slightly unsteady voice that he wants to accept their offer and that he’s ready to hash out the details at the end of the season. Not even after Marcus and his wife take him out to dinner to celebrate on the same evening. Not even after Jos talks to his parents who promise him to help with house-hunting and that they will definitely make the drive up north as often as possible.

Jos and Craig have not been this happy with each other for a while. And somewhat selfishly, Jos does not want to disturb that. Wants to enjoy it. Keeps postponing the talk, the talk they need to have. Keeps making several attempts to talk to Craig. Only to change the subject at the last minute.

 

A few days after the end of the season, the news does finally break.

“Lancashire CCC announce new signing Jos Buttler.” The banner on Sky Sports News reads. Black letters on a yellow background. Impossible not to see.  

Just as Jos and Craig, having spent a lazy afternoon on the couch watching rugby, get up to pick up the washing from the garden.

“Shit.” Jos whispers before he can stop himself. Feels his hands beginning to shake. An ice-cold feeling settle in his stomach. His heart pounding in his throat, he looks as slowly as possible at his boyfriend.

Who is staring at the screen in disbelief.

“And when…” Craig eventually asks.

“When exactly…” He breaks off and swallows again. Clenches his fists.

“When _exactly_ were you going to tell _ME?_ ”


	6. The Science of Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s December 2013 and Jos is on his way to Australia for an ODI series, having just moved into his new house in Salford.
> 
> For now, he’s trying his best to make the long distance - relationship with Craig work. But it is far from easy. So, all in all, Jos is quite glad to take his mind off everything by flying to the other side of the globe.
> 
> Of course he has heard rumours about recent events in the Test side.
> 
> But it can’t be that bad, can it?
> 
> Wrong. It’s a lot worse.

 

Blessed relief.

That is the only word to sum up Jos’ mental state right now. Hardly paying attention to his surroundings over the screams of his legs getting used to walking again after 14 hours, he drags himself past passport control. Ignores the mildly pitying grin the Australian airport officer gives him when she – quite obviously – recognises the Three Lions on his tracksuit.

He is too tired for that.

And besides, what did she really expect. For one, Jos has only seen a day and a half from the current series, so he really is not in a place to comment on it. And also – these are his friends. The lads in the Test side. Granted, that may be stretching it a bit, he hardly knows most of them.

Except for Joe.

Funny how, as exhausted as Jos is right now, the thought of his Yorkie friend does manage to bring a smile to his face. Makes him remember a promise Joe made him swear before their plane left Heathrow Airport for Dubai (24 hours ago? really? Jos does not know if that is true. But it does feel like someone or something stole a day from him).

Yawning as widely as he can, Jos grabs his phone and takes a selfie. Waits for the provider to change to an Australian network, looks Joe’s number up in the contacts and briefly considers what to write.

**feel like a zombie. no idea what happened between London and here. see you soon. :)**

Before he puts his phone into his backpack, he sends the same photo to his dad (really hopes this did not wake him up, it is the middle of the night back home – or is it? Jos really should have double checked the time difference before they left) and Marcus.

**hello Australia. hardly know how I got here. can not wait to be in a proper bed.**

“Oi, Jos, that yours?” Jade jabs a finger into Jos’ back. “What?” Jos yawns again. _Head in the clouds, Joshua. As usual,_ he hears Marcus laugh.

 _I’ve officially lost the plot._ Jos rolls his eyes at himself and follows Jade’s outstretched hand. Dimly recognises his kitbag, hurries to grab it and plonk it on top of Jade’s on a trolley.

“Are we all sorted?” Eoin asks and looks around. “Right, off with you, the bus is waiting.”

Jos puts his sunglasses back on – the lads did not exaggerate, the sun in Australia is really a different kind of intense – and yawns for the third time. “What’s … sorry. Morgs, what time’s dinner?”

“7:30. Depends on when the lads finish today.” Eoin rubs his eyes. “Do we want to know how they’ve been doing?” “I don’t think so.” Chris says while he hauls his suitcase up the stairs. “We’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

“Has anyone heard from any of them since Perth?” Jade wants to know. “There have been a few rumours but I’m really not sure what to believe.”

Now that Jade has mentioned it, Jos realises Joe has been unusually quiet in the last couple of days. Normally, he is eager to tell Jos about everything worth mentioning on tour, from KP’s ongoing unsuccessful attempts to teach Matt how to play out of bunkers on a golf course, to Swanny’s and Jimmy’s antics or funny sledges Joe accidentally overheard while training or during a game.

In the last couple of days, however, the “news from Down Under”, as Joe calls his updates, have been rather on the thin side. Ever since a message in the early morning of December 22 that told Jos   **Swanny’s out as well, he’s going home tomorrow :(.**

Jos still recalls staring at his screen in disbelief. Not that he has had a lot of chance to talk to Swanny over the past year, but he came to like the perpetually cheerful mischievous spinner and had been looking forward to continuing their table tennis matches that became such an intense contest in India.

After a few false starts, Jos eventually settled for **really sorry for him, please let him know.** Hoped that his worry was not too transparent. If Swanny had to leave early as well, that would spell disaster for the last two matches. Not that that mattered any more, the Ashes were already gone and the press back in England were already calling for sackings and retirements.

But the last thing that anyone in the Test side needs at this point is a whitewashed series.

_Maybe that’s why Joe has been so eager to ask about me. He’s trying to take his mind off their crisis._

 

Jos sighs. _That’s something we have in common, mate._

At the end of October, Jos and his sister, having taken a few days off to dedicate themselves to the task, finally found a new house for him. In a leafy green and reasonably quiet residential area, only 25 minutes by car to Old Trafford and the Lancashire CCC training facilities. Not too different from Jos’ old place in Taunton.

The owner had been so eager to sell it – as she explained, she had inherited the house from her father and had had to renovate almost all of it – that she gave Jos a considerable discount.

Having signed the paperwork, Jos returned home a day later and started to pack.

Which did not only lead to one of the worst anxiety attacks he has had in a over a year – but also to an argument with Craig that, even now, Jos can only describe as a blow-up.

Only Jos’ better judgement and his still quite fragile state prevented him from asking Craig the one question he dreaded.

_Do you even want to be with me any longer?_

Jos has no idea.

 

When the moving company arrived a week after their fight, Craig apparently decided to put their disagreement behind him. Had been his usual sweet and caring self while he helped Jos load his bags into the car, told him that he would catch up with them in the evening but that he had to go to Mason’s first ever football game beforehand.

And it had been a nice first evening in Jos’ new home. Followed by a calm couple of days in  which they explored their new surroundings, joined Jimmy and Stuart for a barbecue in Jimmy’s garden – purely out of superstition, as Jimmy explained – and even managed to go to the theatre, something they had not done in two years.

Up until that morning in late November. A very grey sky and crisp cool air had greeted Jos and Craig as they left the house and drove to the train station, tried to be as early as possible before Craig had to catch the train back to Taunton.

Jos had been waiting for Craig to get their usual breakfast – two chocolate croissants and two café lattes – when his phone rang. He instantly recognised the number: Ed Smith, head of the ECB selection committee. They were just going through all potential players for the ODI series following the Ashes, Ed Smith explained, and definitely wanted to ask their best wicketkeeper if he was up for the challenge.

Jos accepted before he could think twice.

Only for Craig to notice his proud grin as he returned with their snacks and coffees. And instantly put two and two together. Well, Craig has known him for such a long time, who else could read him like a book?

Which, to Jos’ eternal embarrassment, caused another loud argument, in the middle of Manchester Central of all places. And ended with Craig accusing Jos of “deliberately forcing him out of the England set-up” (something which could not be further from the truth). Craig thrust the croissant into Jos’ hand, looked at the noticeboard – “twenty minutes, I’d best get on the platform” – and left without a second glance.

 

Since then, apart from a few texts and a worried phone call from Tregs (“what’s gone wrong this time, Jos, Craig’s scaring me with his temper”), Jos and Craig have not spoken to each other at all.

So, when the plane took off from Heathrow airport (at least Jos thinks it must have, he can’t for the life of him remember when that happened), Jos was secretly relieved. Maybe a few weeks in Australia would give him a new perspective. He has been looking forward to playing a series against the old enemy for a while.

And maybe, Craig would even see sense when he came back.

 

The bus comes to a halt in front of a giant grey building. Looking every bit as luxurious as Jos imagined. While they check in (“you can see the harbour from your room, Mr. Buttler, I’m sure you will enjoy the view”), Jos suddenly notices a commotion behind him.

Voices. Angry voices. More than slightly familiar.

“I did NOT mean that personally, for fuck’s sake! I was simply trying to tell you that I thought you should have left that ball alone, KP! Jesus Christ!”

“And since when are you the expert on batting, Anderson? Come back to me when you actually score a hundred.”

“You are such a prick. Lording it over us when you’ve had quite the shit series yourself.”

And then a calmer, weary voice: “stop it, lads.”

Jos turns around.

Everything is silent in an instant. With a hint of a sheepish grin, Jimmy crosses the hall to say hello to Jos. “Sorry about that. Thought your flight wasn’t going to get in until nineish?” he says while he pats Jos on the shoulder. “That’s weird. I thought Morgs sent you an e-mail, Cooky?” Jos replies.

A shadow crosses Alastair’s face. “He did, he definitely did. I must have …” He falters. “I must have overlooked it. It’s been an exceptionally busy few days. Sorry lads.” Alastair sighs and tries to put on a more cheerful expression. “Anyway, good to see you all. How was the trip?” he says as he hugs Eoin.

“Long.” Eoin shrugs and yawns.

“No doubt about that. I’ll leave you all to get settled. See you at seven thirty.” Alastair smiles while he follows Jimmy upstairs. But there is something odd about it, Jos thinks. That was far from his usual fond smile. The one he greets everyone with when they meet up for a tour.

No, that was strained. Painful. As if he was forcing himself. Trying to keep up appearances.

 _Brilliant,_ Jos sighs. _So much for escaping the chaos at home. I’ve walked straight into a wasp’s nest._

On autopilot, he gets into the lift and presses the button for his floor – 16, he can not remember ever having stayed this high above the ground. Maybe the views will really be quite nice from up there.

Pausing in front of his hotel room, Jos tries to remember where he has left his key card. In his wallet, as usual? Or … “Oh brilliant!”

Jos startles by the sudden sound. Followed by a hand on his back. “Finally, it’s about time, mate!” an excited voice says, pulling Jos into a hug.

Despite his exhaustion, Jos has to laugh as he pats Joe on the shoulder. “Hi.”

A delighted smile – and mildly pink ears – greet him. “Hello, Zombie.” Joe giggles and lets go of Jos. “Just saw your text. How was the flight?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been this bored before.” Jos admits and yawns. “I know the feeling.” Joe tells him (and stops himself just in time from adding _no doubt it was, I wasn’t there with you_ ). “I’m two doors down on the right. In case you...” Joe stumbles and bites his lip.

“I’ll get back to you on that. I need a shower.” Jos smiles. “Right, I’m not stopping you. See you downstairs.” Grinning, Joe ambles further down the corridor.

 

The room waiting for Jos is every bit as spacious as he hoped. A giant kingsize bed, a couch, large enough to have room for three people, a new flatscreen TV – and, to his relief – none of these not exactly hygienic rugs covering the bedsheets that hotels all over the globe seem to be so fond of.

And sure enough, as he steps on the tiny balcony, enjoys a warm summer breeze drifting in from the sea – an almost panoramic view of Melbourne Harbour. Perfect for a cup of coffee and a book in the early morning. Watching the boats go by – has he ever seen so many yachts in one place – and enjoying the silence.

 _Tregs would love it here,_ Jos thinks and takes a photo with his mobile. **Knackered, but could be worse ;),** he types and presses send. Knows it will only be half an hour – at most – before his best friend replies. _That way, I’ll have something to look forward to when I come back from dinner._

His legs remind him that they really could use a shower. Or anything else that could wake them up.

Dragging himself forward – _at least we have two weeks to get over it before the first game_ – Jos heads to the bathroom and turns on the water.

A distant “bang” to his left makes him jump. A sound like a door being slammed. And muffled shouts from outdoors. Sounding different from an ordinary argument. Almost as if …

“None of your business, Joseph,” Jos tells himself while he washes off the worst of his exhaustion. Dries himself with one of the perfectly fluffy hotel towels, stands in the middle of the room for a moment to let the wind cool him as much as possible.

Looks for a clean T-shirt and shorts and leaves his room again.

 

Usually, on a tour – at least on the few Jos has been on so far – the time right before dinner is the noisiest period of a day. With everyone busy discussing the day’s play or training sessions, already excited to refuel after a few hours of hard work in the field. Usually – at least if Swanny had anything to do with it – the time period in which it pays off to really watch your step while going to the dining room – unless you actually plan to end up shoes first in a giant bowl of water (okay, that was hilarious, especially Matt’s very loud laugh when he caught sight of Swanny’s “gotcha!” expression).

But today – everything is quiet. Too quiet. Not even the usual football discussions fill the corridor while Jos makes his way past the other rooms.

_I have no idea what happened, lads, but I’m starting to get worried._

Stuart and Matt catch up with Jos on the downwards staircase. “Evening,” Matt says – the first to greet Jos with a genuine smile. “You look remarkably awake.” “I’m far from it, believe me.” Jos replies. “What’s for dinner?” “No idea. The seafood is quite good in this place, though. You should try hoki fillet if they have it tonight.” Stuart says and puts an arm around Jos’ shoulder. “Really good to see you. It has been a very long day.” “Do I want to know?”

“Not yet. Don’t put him off completely,” Matt says with a wink in Stuart’s direction. “Congratulations on your new contract, by the way! How’s Manchester treating you so far?”

 _Don’t think about Craig._ “I’m still getting used to it to be honest,” Jos says while they enter the dining room and look for a place to sit. “No doubt about that. The North’s like a whole different country in some ways.”

A grunt behind them – half full of disdain, half amusement. “Yes, James?” Matt grins at his friend. “Leave that to me, please, mate. You haven’t got the foggiest.” Jimmy shoves Matt aside – gently – and looks at Jos. “I’ll make a honourary Lancastrian of you yet.” he tells Jos and hands him the menu. “Off to get some roasted potatoes, anyone want some too?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jos catches Joe rolling his eyes behind Jimmy’s back.

_I missed that. I never really understood the Roses rivalry – but it’s definitely fun when Joe and Jimmy are both at it. I think they somehow need that._

 

And sure enough, a very lively discussion, spanning decades and listing names that Jos has never head of before, keeps their table entertained all the way through the first two courses (Stuart was right, whatever sort of fish hoki is, it does taste quite pleasant). Every so often, Joe, sitting directly across from Jos, grins at him, hoping Jos will agree with him that Jimmy is far beyond reasonable.

Nevertheless, there is a tension in the air. One that is almost palpable. Especially between Kevin and Andy Flower who – at least judging by Jos’ first impression  - usually get along quite fine.

But today, Kevin hardly pays attention when their coach gets up before dessert, wishing all of them a good night and informing them there will be a short tactics discussion before the next day’s play begins.

 _What’s wrong between them?_ Jos tries to ask Stuart. Who looks at him for an extended period of time and sighs. “You really don’t want to know.”

“I…”

“Lads, I’m off to bed too,” Alastair interrupts Jos. “Try to get enough sleep, okay?” With a thin smile in Jos’ general direction, he leaves the dining room.

Jos’ eyes fall onto Alastair’s seat without meaning to. And the sight is enough to make his stomach sink. Three quarters of the grilled fish fillet remain untouched on the white porcelain plate.

 _What’s going on, Cooky,_ Jos thinks, worried. _Not that it’s my place to ask – you don’t know me all that well just yet. But I can sense something is very, very wrong._

Jimmy, having caught sight of Jos’ expression, shrugs. “I’ll take care of it, okay?” he says with a smile that is meant to be convincing. But Jos can just about hear the concern behind it.

“Are you having dessert, or do you want to hit the hay?” Joe asks, interrupting Jos’ thoughts.

“I … not today, okay? I really need to catch up on at least some sleep.” Jos excuses himself and puts down his knife and fork. “What time are you leaving for the MCG tomorrow, lads?”

“Eight-twentyish, as usual.” Tim answers. With none of his usual optimism.

“Okay thanks. In case anyone wants to join me for a swim, I’ll be by the pool by six-forty-five.” Jos says and goes upstairs. Only just manages to see Joe’s reply – a wide beaming (beaming?) grin and a salute.

 

Tregs has not let Jos down, as usual. Because the moment Jos opens the door to his room again, his phone blinks, telling him there is at least one message from his best friend waiting for him.

Smiling to himself, Jos unlocks the screen to find a couple of photos. Tregs, Marcus and their wives, all wearing silly woollen hats, obviously standing on the corner of Wilton Street and Vivary Road, in front of one of these lovely recently popular little wooden market stands. The Christmas market. Jos’ second most favourite event of the year. And it looks like Taunton has had a fresh bit of snow since Jos saw it last.

It makes his heart hurt.

**Hard to imagine it’s summer over there. Hope you can sleep mate! look after yourself and tell Cooky Marcus has said hi. all the best for the series :)**

Annoyedly, Jos brushes away a tear. _How long is it going to take me to get used to that._

He slips on his pyjamas – smelling of Craig’s aftershave, as usual. A smell that normally brings him comfort. But today, it only increases his confusion.

_I need to sleep. I’ll see things more clearly tomorrow._

Before he switches the light off, Jos pulls his bedside drawer open. Makes sure the small red parcel he had in his backpack is still where he left it.

_Looking forward to seeing his face. He won’t expect a birthday present from me. But he’ll love a surprise._

Jos rubs his eyes and turns off the light.

_I’ll just have to find the right moment._

After he has gotten over his initial confusion the following morning – how exactly are there seagulls screaming outside his bedroom window, Manchester is nowhere near close enough to the sea – Jos drags himself out of bed and into the shower. The orange sky outdoors – such an intense colour – promises yet another blistering hot day.

 _Here’s hoping I don’t get a sunburn;_ Jos thinks while he puts on his bathing trunks and picks a towel from the rack in the bathroom. That story of Marcus’ – how he had to lie absolutely still for half a day because every movement was like torture on his burned lower back and  legs – has stuck in his mind far better than he would have liked.

Jos puts on an extra layer of sunscreen and goes to the swimming pool. Only to find an unusually bashful looking Joe already in the water. Who almost swallows a bit of liquid when he sees Jos come closer.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Joe laughs, trying to hide his ears. “In case you forgot, yes, you’re in Australia, Melbourne to be exact, it’s the morning of the 28th of December and we just about have time for four lengths before I need to go to breakfast.”

“The 28th…” Jos pretends to think. “Oh, that’s right, I knew there was something important today.” He laughs as he jumps into the pool. “Happy birthday, mate.”

“And you…” Joe’s brain catches up with his mouth. “Sorry.” He giggles. “I have no idea what I just said. Thanks! I didn’t expect you to remember.” “Sounds like I’m not the only one who isn’t awake yet.” Jos says sympathetically. “Race you?”

“Nothing better than that,” Joe laughs and they set off.

 

While they dry themselves, Jos takes up the courage to ask Joe, having spent the last 20 minutes in the water trying to come up with the right approach.

“Joe, mate?” “Yes?” “I only heard rumours – and the stuff the press has been filling the back pages with. What exactly happened since Perth? I’ve got the feeling Cooky is about to break down. He hardly ate anything last night.”

Joe sighs deeply. “Not the first time this has happened. I’m really worried about him. He tries to put on a brave front, as usual, but there’s just been so much that’s gone wrong …”

“You don’t have to tell me right now.” Jos puts a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Just saying I’m here if you need a distraction. I could do with one myself, to tell you the truth.”

“Why?” Joe looks at Jos with a curious expression. _Don’t tell me you’re …_

_Joseph Edward, you idiot. That is not what’s happened._

“Lots of trouble at home. Moving 200 km away isn’t without its challenges.”

“Tell you what,” Joe says while they go back indoors to wait for the lift – “let’s catch up over FIFA tonight. I’ve got a test match to take care of.”

“And you will be fine, mate. You always will.” Jos replies with such conviction that Joe laughs. “You really haven’t seen anything from this series so far, have you? But thanks.”

 

During training, Jos tries to keep himself busy. Tries to keep his mind off Joe’s rueful laugh and the concern on his face. _I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on. But I could do my best to take your mind off it a little bit,_ he resolves while he gives Eoin throwdowns.

“Know what I heard?” Eoin says as they stretch to warm up. “KP’s back texting.” “I don’t believe it.” Chris sighs. “I thought he’d learned his lesson?”

“That explains Jimmy’s temper,” Eoin replies. “But lads, that’s strictly between us, okay?”

 

As they return from training later in the afternoon, they find the rest of their teammates already waiting for them in the lobby. One look at Ben – pale and gritting his teeth – serves to tell Jos that the day has not gone their way at all. “How…” Jos tries to ask Jimmy but Jimmy cuts him off. “Shit. Not saying anything else, okay?”

“Okay then.” Jos replies and turns to Joe. “Mind joining me upstairs after dinner? It’s been a while since you had a proper opponent on FIFA.”

“Sure.” Joe grins. “I…”

“Joe, do you want to have your birthday cake tonight?” Alastair asks.

 “Actually – no thanks, Cooky. I don’t feel much like celebrating. Let’s … let’s save it for New Year’s Eve.” Joe replies with what he hopes is a convincing grin. „Okay then.” Alastair says. Looking, Jos think, as if he is not exactly in the mood for cake as well.

 

After a subdued dinner, Joe and Jos quickly head off together.

“I don’t care who you play as long as I get to be …” “Of course, I’ll let you have Sheffield United,” Jos laughs and gives Joe a playful punch on the arm. “You really know me by now, mate.” Joe returns the punch and smiles. “I was really happy to hear you’d be with us for the ODIs. Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Jos says – and knows just how true that sentence was. “So, before we start, I need to get something from my room, okay?”

Joe grins excitedly. “Am I correct in assuming it’s…” He rubs his hands.

“Of course.” Jos hugs him from the side. “Thought you could do with a little surprise.”

“You really shouldn’t have.” Blushing fiercely, Joe bites his lip.

 _You are quite cute when you’re bashful like that,_ Jos thinks and wonders where that just came from. Stops in front of his room, unlocks the door and hurries to get the red parcel from his bedside drawer. “It isn’t much, but I hope you like it.”

Joe, unable to contain his curiosity, tears the paper apart. Falters briefly, then laughs. “Franz Ferdinand! How on earth did you know? I’ve been looking everywhere for their new album.” “I know your taste in music.” Jos smiles, happy that his surprise has paid off. “Can we listen to it while we play?” Joe asks, rubbing his hands and looking every inch like the excited puppy that Jimmy keeps comparing him to.

“Of course we can.” Jos says and hugs Joe again. Prompting a magnificently crimson flush.

 

In between shots, penalties and discussions – “that WAS offside, you should have paid attention” – Joe eventually lets go of everything that has been weighing on him for the past three weeks. Horrified, Jos listens. To the day Cooky and Joe found Trotty on his bathroom floor, in the middle of a nervous breakdown. How they eventually managed to persuade him to talk to them – and convince him that nobody would hold it against him if he went back home. That he really needed someone to look after him.  How Swanny’s elbow injury started flaring up in the middle of the second test, making him unable to complete his bowling spell – and therefore leaving England short of their best option to stop the Australian attack.

How everything had stopped for an instant when Jimmy had only been able to fend a Mitchell Johnson delivery over to short leg. How the Australians jumped up and down, celebrated.

“I really thought Cooky was going to break down there and then.” Joe confides in Jos. “I saw him stare into the distance for what felt like at least ten minutes.”

“No wonder.” Jos says. “He must be under a hell of a lot of pressure.”

“All of us are. But it’s worse for him. We don’t have to – oh for fuck’s sake, why didn’t I shoot earlier – face the media every – shit! nice goal, I’ll give you that – day. He hardly gets a chance to distract himself.” Joe pounds Jos’ back. “Nice counter attack, mate.”

“Anything we can do?” Jos asks while the virtual football match kicks off again.

“Not sure. Just … let him know you’re there. Or something. He needs to know there are still people he can rely on.”

“And you think that’s me?” Jos says.

“Of course, mate. You’re nothing if not super reliable. And a lot of other things.” Joe squeezes Jos’ shoulder. “Really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Jos returns Joe’s smile.

 

The following days continue in similar fashion.

 Every morning, they meet up to go for a swim. And in the evening, they alternate between rooms, watch TV, continue their FIFA contest or make fun of the Australians. Try to keep their heads down and keep out of the increasing arguments between the rest of their teammates.

Which helps both of them a lot. Even when Joe is told by a very reluctant Alastair that he will not be playing in the fifth and final test – “don’t take this personal, Joe, but we need to make at least one tactical change if this game is supposed to last longer than three days”. Even when, a few days after the New Year, Jos finds himself in yet another argument with Craig over text message – this time, because Craig had apparently been listening to the Daily Mail and asked Jos if they “sacked that pathetic excuse of a captain already.” (Jos’ quite spirited defence of Alastair did not go down well. At all).

 

Through it all, Joe manages to keep himself together. Manages not to let Jos suspect a single thing about his true emotions. Simply enjoys spending time with him, getting to know him on an even more personal level. While at the same time, the concern for the rest of his teammates is never far from his mind.

 

Until the final day. And the heart-breaking moment in which the England balcony have to watch helplessly as Michael Clarke makes an easy catch, Ryan Harris celebrates his five-fer … and the whitewash is sealed.

Trying his best to remain professional – and strong – Joe keeps eye contact with Cooky throughout the presentation. Keeps reassuring him that he is not alone.

Does not know where that idea came from but finds himself at the back of the bus on their way to the hotel. Hesitates before settling for the most natural gesture of comfort he can think of.

Covering Cooky’s hand with his. And leaving it there.

The shaky but eternally grateful smile he gets in return lifts Joe’s spirits a bit. _I’m here for you._

 

They remain seated close to each other until the bus parks in front of their hotel.

 Eoin and the ODI squad have assembled on the stairs leading up to the entrance. Meet their teammates’ eyes with understanding and sympathetic looks. “We saw it.” Eoin explains after he hugs Jonny. “I … lads, we’re here. Don’t forget that.”

Joe opens his mouth to thank Eoin when he catches sight of Jos in the back. Who looks at him with such a kind warm smile that Joe feels his eyes beginning to well up. _If you only knew,_ he thinks while he blinks rapidly, trying his best not to cry. _If you only knew and if that poxy South African – not you, Pietersen – wasn’t in our way …_ A muffled, thankfully quiet, sob escapes him.

 _It’s too much. It’s all too much_ , Joe keeps repeating to himself while he has a shower and gets ready for dinner. Hardly pays attention to the flood of sympathetic text messages, coming from Vaughany first and foremost, arriving on his phone. There is even one from Caroline, his ex-girlfriend. Who he hasn’t spoken to in more than two years. **Hope you have someone to talk to, Joe. Sorry for all of you.**

 _She knows me,_ Joe sighs while he gets dressed. _I need to eat at least something, otherwise …_

 

This time, nobody dares to talk. They finish their meals in silence, Alastair turning a few heads when he excuses himself before dessert (chocolate volcanoes, one of his absolute favourite cakes, at least according to Stuart).

“What are you up to, Rooty?” Stuart asks.

“Nothing much. Need some time on my own.” Joe replies. “Sure. But remember, my door is open if you need someone to talk to. It isn’t the first long day I had in this team.”

“Thanks.”

 

Joe hurries upstairs and fetches his ukulele from his cupboard. Flicks through his song book until he comes across the only thing that makes sense in his confused emotional state.

Closes his eyes for a second and starts to play.

“I see you standing here,

but you’re so far away…”

And in the darkness and safety of his hotel room, the tears finally force their way out.

 Relief. Of a different sort.

 


	7. It has been over for a while

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 2014, Manchester.  
> Craig shows up on Jos' doorstep unnanounced.The inevitable happens.  
> Only for Jos to find comfort from the most unlikely source possible.  
> But the truth will have to come out at some point. Which means Joe will find out as well.  
> Chaos waiting to happen.

“Alright, I’ve got enough socks. Batting gloves … in here. Now where did I leave my keeping gloves?”

Puzzled, Jos stops in front of his new wardrobe (six months in, it is still good to call everything in this house “new” – although most of the furniture belonged to the previous owner.). Gets on his toes, looks at the top shelf. A colourful slightly disorganised mess of hats and caps.

But no gloves.

_Oh well, still a day and a half to go._

Mildly annoyed at himself ( _I seem to have brought that problem with me up north, I really should come up with a system_ ), Jos shakes his head and leaves his bedroom. Retrieves the equipment list from a table in the corridor, pauses to add a tick behind “gloves (batting)” to the sheet of paper. A wide streak of sunlight falls in through the closed glass door leading to his living room at the far end of the corridor, letting the light brown floor shine,  and he has to conclude that all in all, he could have it worse.

_I always knew I would be fine in the end._

Which is true, he realises as he crosses the corridor and opens the door to his pantry. Jos may be anxious and a champion worrier (Tregs used to say that Jos always kept him grounded when they were fielding, peering at the opponents from behind the stumps with a mixture of determination and dread that only lifted itself when he was sure they were about to win – which very often took until the ninth wicket). But so far, every major event in his almost 24 years of life has worked out okay.

It is six months to the day since Jos moved into his new house on the outskirts of Manchester. And, maybe it is because of the warm spring weather in recent weeks, bringing an entirely new array of interesting flowers to the lawns and meadows surrounding his house (he is currently drying a bunch of dandelions to give to Meschy – old habits die hard and he figures his South African friend would probably like a nice surprise for his birthday). Or because he has finally heard enough Mancunian to really understand his new teammates – but Jos is enjoying life in the North.

 _The lads will be surprised in the nets on Friday,_ Jos thinks while he packs muesli bars, apples and bags of fruit-and-nut mix into a plastic bag. _I’m starting to see the fun in chirping now._

Glen, his new captain, spent half an hour with Jos after his first indoor training in February. Explained that they were impressed by his quick reaction behind the stumps and his “very positive posture and attitude”, but that there was something they would like to see Jos work on. Chirping, or the art of unsettling opposition batsmen by almost constant chatter – ranging from seemingly innocent questions what the other man had had for dinner the day before and didn’t he think the weather was nice, to statements that, at first sight, could be mistaken for compliments (“your shoes match the sky, that’s lovely) – was a tactic the players of Lancashire CCC prided themselves on and it was something Jos, as their new first-choice wicketkeeper, would be expected to learn as well. “And if you’re not sure how to do it, ask Jimmy. He’s written the book on chirping. Or he would have. If he could be persuaded to talk.”

Jimmy, having heard the tail end of the conversation, proceeded to throw a towel at Glen.

Everyone laughed. Jos most of all.

 _That was the moment I started to feel at ease._ Jos ticks a few more items off his packing list. Pauses for a moment, tries to remember where he left the box of teas his sister gave him for Christmas. _I owe Jimmy at least one. I’ve learned a lot from him over the last couple of weeks._

A quick glance at his watch – 9:45. Still an hour to go before they are due to meet up and go to the gym together. Jos does wonder a bit how and when it happened, but Jimmy is turning into a friend, these days. While he was a bit put off by his teammate’s grumpy and aggressive demeanour on the field, they have spent enough time together by now for Jos to realise that this was far from the case once you actually got to know him. Actual Jimmy is shy, reserved, but with a fantastic sense of humour. Someone you cannot help but like. _And what’s that Glen has been saying recently? That Jimmy reminds him a lot of me?_

Jos still has no idea what prompted his captain to make that comparison. _That’s alright, though. I don’t need to find out everything. Now, where is that tea box again?_

Whistling to himself – only realising after a minute that it was in fact “A thousand miles”, the recent Lancashire team favourite after victories (Luke and Alex have the theatrics nailed down) – Jos goes back to the kitchen. Finds the blue metal box in one of his storage cupboards, ticks it off the list with a relieved grin. _Can’t trust the places we’re going to be in to have decent tea._

Almost three years in to his England career. And by now, finally, Jos feels like he is getting used to it. Stopped asking himself if he really belonged in this elite group of players (okay, that may have been a white lie, but it is less frequent than usual). Has been starting to make friends with a few of them, is beginning to lose some of his shyness around Al … no, Cooky, Jos. Which still surprises him a bit.

_I mostly have Joe to thank for that, I guess._

And just that thought – _I finally get to see Joe again in two days_ – is enough to make Jos genuinely happy. While he did not think they would get along at first, they seemed like complete opposites – Joe, mischievous, life of the party and always ready to get right into the middle of things – and Jos, always “up in his head”, preferring to observe and laugh from the side-lines – he can not deny they became fairly close friends over the last 15 months.

_Especially now I’ve seen below the surface. And I like what I’ve found so far. It’s impossible not to like you. That caring, reflective, affectionate side of yours._

For a moment, Jos considers sending Joe a text. Asking him how packing is going, maybe teasing him a bit with a photo of the freshly blooming red roses in his garden (it really doesn’t take much to set Joe off and Jos loves bantering with him).

 

As he is halfway on his way out the back door, however, a noise makes him stop in his tracks.

A car, coming down the road, evidently headed for his house.

Curiously, Jos turns around and goes to the kitchen. Is it Jimmy already? That would be unusual.

He looks out of the window.

 

A sudden feeling of dread is settling on his stomach.

He knows that car. He helped pick it out almost three years ago.

Craig. Coming to visit him unannounced. Granted, it could be because they have not seen each other in two weeks and his boyfriend wants to spend some time with him before the Sri Lanka series begins. Has decided to put his jealousy behind him (that was his spot in the England dressing room until last January) and wants to support Jos. Actually act like a partner again.

_That’s not what’s happening._

Jos does not know how he knows, but he can not deny his hands are shaking as he hears a car door being closed and someone making his way along the garden path (he really needs to tell his neighbour to water the two lemon trees while he is on tour).

_Something’s up._

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a text message flashing across the screen of his new phone.

**Everything okay up north? Found all your stuff? ring me if you have time. Banger.**

_Oh Marcus._ Jos smiles. His old captain has been at the receiving end of too many of Jos’ panicked searches and outbursts when some of his kit went missing before an away game (which happened every other week, at first). _He still cares. He’s got his unique way of showing it, though._

A knock at the front door.

Jos feels his stomach tie itself into knots. “Coming.” he shouts and hopes it sounded cheerful.

Before he opens the door, he takes a deep breath. _Don’t panic. You’ll find out soon enough._

 

The figure standing in the entrance looks like Craig. At least, there is his old blue cap on top of his head, bought on their first holiday together in Rhodes. And he must have spent a lot of time in the sun, his freckles (something that attracted Jos to him at first sight) are more visible than usual.

But there is not even a hint of that smile Jos knows so well as his boyfriend meets his eyes.

“Hi. Am I interrupting anything?” Craig asks and sounds like he has been crying.

“No, come on in.” Hesitantly, Jos takes Craig’s hand and ushers him indoors, closes the door behind them. “I was just going to make a coffee, want one too?” (Okay, he wasn’t, but he knows from five years of experience that Craig usually responds well to that)

Craig sighs and lets go of Jos’ hand. “Can we sit down somewhere? I … we need to talk.”

_We need to talk._

The sentence echoes in Jos’ mind. In an instant, he is 14 again, trying and failing not to eavesdrop on his sister and Michael, her first boyfriend, arguing in the front room of their parents’ house.

 _We need to talk._ “It’s always bad news when they say that,” Sophia had told Jos, sobbing, when he came to check on her later that evening. “That’s a nicer way of saying – “we’re done.”

 

His heart pounding in his throat, Jos leads Craig into the living room.

Craig sits on the sofa, a foot away from Jos. There are tears in his eyes.

Jos clenches his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “What’s up, muffin?” he asks, using his boyfriend’s favourite endearment. Something that always used to make Craig smile.

But not today.

“I…” Craig chokes himself off. “I … fuck’s sake. Jossy, this isn’t easy for me. But I … I don’t think I can do this any longer.” Tears have started to run down his cheeks. “I mean … we hardly ever see each other and when we do, we always seem to get into an argument. I really thought it would get easier if we didn’t compete for a spot in the Somerset XI any longer. But it hasn’t. I … wanted to make this work.”

“Bollocks.”

Craig jumps at the sudden angry outburst. “What are you saying?”

“I said that’s complete bollocks.” Jos hisses. Hits the sofa cushion behind his back with his right hand before he can stop it. Does not know whether he wants to jump up or stay where he is.

“I’m being honest with you! That’s why I got up at 6 am today. I had to tell you in person!” Craig, still in tears, tries to defend himself.

“Spare me that.” Jos manages between clenched teeth. “You wanted to make this work? Sure have an odd way of showing me that. Where was the text you promised me before our first game of the season? Why didn’t you manage to make it up here even ONCE in the last two weeks? Why do I manage to ask how your games have gone and you never asked a single thing about me since we returned from Australia? Let’s face it, Craig.” Jos looks him directly into the eye. “You’re jealous.”

“So what if I am? You have been lording it over me ever since you got that offer from Lancs on your birthday. For that matter, why did you tell every single bloody person at the club before me? Why did I have to find it out on bloody Sky Sports News after you already signed the contract?” Craig retorts, starting to get angry as well.

“Because I knew what your reaction would be like! You can’t deal with me being successful!”

“I hardly recognise you! You’ve really become an arrogant prick since you moved up here! All I wanted was to be involved in such a momentous decision!”

“You would have talked me out of it. Don’t look at me like that, I know you would have. And I also know why. You think you own that wicketkeeping spot in the England team. Let me tell you something. You don’t. In fact, they’ve been so impressed with me since India that they’re thinking of giving me my Test debut. At least that’s what Cooky says.” Jos wonders where the icy calm settling over him has come from. Maybe he really is more like Jimmy than he thought.

“I can’t believe you’re still defending that pathetic excuse of a captain.” Craig shakes his head. “They should have sacked him on the spot after he lost us the Ashes.”

“Were you there with us? Did you know what we were – what _he was_ – going through in Australia? No, because you did not bother to ask. So _don’t talk to me about that._ ” Jos feels the rage building up behind his eyes. It is only a matter of minutes before he is yelling.

“Have you been cheating on me?” Craig asks.

“With … what? You are unbelievable.” Jos gets up. “I’ll tell you something, though. I’m glad you came. We should have had that conversation months ago.”

“So you have been lying to me all the time?”

“Pot, kettle.”

“I don’t believe you.” Now Craig is crying again. Sobbing even.

Jos reminds himself to keep breathing. “Out.” he croaks.

“What?”

“You heard me. Give me back your set of keys and then do one.”

“Oh fine.” Craig reaches in his jeans pocket and lets the keys clatter onto the floor. “I didn’t want it to end like this.” he whispers. Meets Jos’ eyes one last time. “Go well against Sri Lanka.”

Leaning against the wall, trying to stop himself from sliding into another anxiety attack, Jos does not reply. Watches, stunned, motionless, but far from emotionless, as Craig, his first boyfriend, leaves the room. Walks out to the front door.

And out of his life.

 

He does not know how many minutes have passed. Keeps standing where he is, feels his heart race and something large pressing down on his throat. Only the sharp pain of the door handle, burying itself into his lower back, reminds him that he is not in the middle of one of his nightmares.

Gradually, his vision becomes blurry.

Tears fill his eyes.

“Fuck.” Jos says in a shaky voice.

Thinks back to that evening eight years ago. How Sophia lay curled up in her bed. How she cried for what seemed like hours.

“I don’t think I want to fall in love.” Jos told his sister when she eventually calmed down. “If it hurts you this much.” Upon which point, Sophia pulled him into a hug.

_It hurts. I should have seen it coming. But that doesn’t make it any less painful._

Without knowing how, Jos slides onto the carpet. Hugs his knees to his chest, buries his face between them. Finally, _finally_ gives up the fight. And cries.

Five years, over in an instant. Five years of learning, of growing up together. Five years of adventures, of trying to get used to the strange world of adults. Of having each other to fall back upon when everything became overwhelming.

_And now he’s gone. We’re done. I will never be able to tease him about his odd taste in ice cream again. Or have another of his sister’s fantastic lemon cakes. Or watch Mason start school in September._

_Just like that, we are strangers to each other._

Jos’ head and eyes burn. He feels drained. But relieved. _It has been over for a while, though._

Which prompts a new flood of tears.

 

Suddenly a sound breaks through the silence.

A sharp knock at his front door. Jos jumps up. “Oh for goodness sake, Craig. I will send you the rest of your stuff by post.” he grumbles while he makes his way through the corridor. “It…”

“I don’t know who you expected, but it’s me!” A voice replies from the other side of the door. Friendly. Only slightly annoyed. And definitively Lancastrian born-and-bred.

 _Shit._ Jos realises while he looks at his watch. _Of course, it’s already 10:45._

 _Don’t let Jimmy see,_ he tells himself. Blows his nose, wipes his eyes. “Come in, mate.”

Jos opens the door.

To find Jimmy carrying a paper bag that gives off a pleasant smell. “That’s for after training, don’t get any ideas.” Jimmy laughs. “There’s this new café near the opera house and according to my brother they make the best…” He trails off as he looks Jos in the eye. “Bloody hell, Jos, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?” Concerned, he puts down the paper bag and his backpack.

“Nothing.” Jos replies more shakily than he wanted.

“Bollocks.” Jimmy says matter-of-factly. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” And there is a hint of a smile on his face. Such an unusual sight that Jos has to look twice to make sure he did not imagine it.

_Should I tell him? I mean … once I say it out loud, doesn’t that make it real?_

“I…” Jos chokes himself off. “I … I’m single again.”

“Ouch.” Jimmy puts a hand on Jos’ shoulder. “When did this happen?” There is a brief pause while he obviously tries to remember something. “I … wait a second. You’re telling me Kiesy was here today?”

Jos nods. Does not trust himself to speak.

“So he paid you a visit and …?”

Jos acknowledges it silently. Feels fresh tears stinging behind his eyelids.

Jimmy processes the news. “At least he had the balls to do it in person.” Which only serves to make Jos break down again. “I… sorry, I’ll pull myself together.” he whispers between sobs.

Jimmy scratches his right ear. Looks uncomfortable. “I wish … I’ve never been as good at this as Ali (his cheeks take on a faint pink colour). But that’s not the point. Don’t apologise, mate.  You’ve just been broken up with. It’s only natural. Hug?” he asks, tilting his head to his right and giving Jos a supportive smile.

Jos shoots him a brief look that says y _es please._ And Jimmy wraps his arms around him. Holds him tight. Even (slightly awkwardly) starts to pat his shoulder. “It’s alright.” he says softly.

Jos closes his eyes. Enjoys the gesture. Gradually realises just how good it feels, to be held. Seen. And understood. _I never thought you had it in you._ “I… thanks, Jimmy.” he croaks after he gets his breathing back under control. Feels his head throb and his throat burn.

“Don’t mention it. We’re friends, right?” Jimmy squeezes Jos’ left shoulder. “Right, where’s your backpack?” “Bedroom.” Jos is a little confused. His face must show it clearly, though, because Jimmy laughs. Different from his usual laugh. There is genuine warmth behind it, this time.

“You are going to the gym with me. I don’t care how exhausted you are and how much you’d rather curl up on the couch and eat a family-sized pack of popcorn. You need to get out of the house. Otherwise you’ll spend the entire day thinking about that poxy South African and you do not want to do that.” Jimmy looks at Jos.

 _He’s right. Wonder if he’s speaking from experience._  “Okay then. Thanks, mate. I’ll just go and grab my stuff.” Jos says and turns around. “Be with you in a minute.” “And you’re getting the bigger brownie, of course. But after training.” “Sure.” Jos even manages a smile.

 

As they leave the house, the sun breaks through the clouds. Jimmy hears Jos’ sigh and pats his back. “Weather doesn’t care what day you’re having.” he says while he pauses to retrieve his car keys. “I’m driving, okay? I know the way like the back of my hand.” “Of course, go ahead.” Jos agrees and drops his backpack on the back seat. Along with the bag full of brownies. Smelling like coffee and walnuts.

They pass the short car journey in complete, but amicable silence, Jos protecting his still quite raw and painful eyes with the sunglasses his dad gave him for his birthday. Occasionally feels himself smile while Jimmy hisses something behind a passing car or cyclist who, at least according to him, had “no bloody right to cut me off like that.”

 _I’m beginning to see why Cooky likes you so much._ Jos thinks as he watches Jimmy absent-mindedly drum his fingers on the steering wheel, whistle in tune to a song playing on the radio (Joe would probably know the artist in an instant). _You’re not only a fantastic bowler, you …_

“Mind helping me look for a parking space?” Jimmy says all of a sudden. Pokes Jos’ left arm with a finger. “Tresco was right about one thing, I guess. You really have your head in the clouds most of the time. I…” But Jimmy stops himself immediately as he hears Jos choke back another sob.

“Sorry. Really sorry. I should have known that was a bad thing to say. You … well, there’s a reason they don’t consider me for the captaincy. I’m much too inept when it comes to social…” Jos squeezes his hand. “No need to apologise. You’re keeping me company and I’m grateful for that. Also … that one over there? Next to that really battered Volkswagen?”

They park and carry their backpacks to the entrance. “This time of the day,  place’s almost guaranteed to be empty.” Jimmy explains while he holds the door open for Jos. “Perfect. What do you want to do?” Jos asks, casting his eyes over his surroundings. Everything about the gym looks dated. But in a comforting, rather elegant way.

“Forty-five minutes on the treadmill and then some weights? Should give us an advantage for the tests on Thursday.” Jimmy opens a locker. “You okay with sharing?”

“Of course.” Jos replies and goes to get changed. Has a quick look at his phone. No messages. Thankfully. The last thing he wants right now is to explain it to his siblings.

 

Turning the volume of the sound system behind them up to eleven – “Tuesday’s really the best day to come here, that’s the only day I can train to proper music”, as Jimmy explains (such a Joe thing to say, Jos realises and has to smile) – Jimmy and Jos warm up.

As it turns out, despite everything in Jos wanting to run away and hide, physical exertion was just the remedy he needed. While his feet carry him forward on the softly whirring black treadmill, Jos feels the tension beginning to leave his body. Not that his pain has left him entirely – but running, singing along with the CD playing in the background, concentrating on nothing more than his speed and his stance, somehow makes everything a bit more bearable.

After fifty minutes, they move on to weights, watching each other closely, daring each other to go out of their comfort zone. And while Jimmy never directly acknowledges it, the constant faint grin on his features tells Jos he is impressed.

_You do have interesting ways of showing it, mate._

Jos would not go so far as to say he is beginning to understand Jimmy. Nevertheless …

Then, he realises Jimmy has picked up a large square red cushion, one of those boxers use to practice their techniques. “What do you want with that?” Jos asks interestedly. “Me? Nothing. That’s for you.” Jimmy holds the cushion in front of his body. Laughs as he catches sight of Jos’ puzzled expression. “Go on, hit it. Hit it until you’re stuffed.” “Why?” _What is he on about?_

“Fuck’s sake.” Jimmy sighs, but it sounds affectionate. “You’re angry at him, right?” “Yeah, but?” “Pretend it’s him. That giant red pillow. Come on. That’s bound to make you feel better.”

Jos closes his eyes. Thinks back to all the arguments he had with Craig over the past months. To all the moments Craig let him down, was unable to see past his jealousy. Clenches his fist.

His first punch is enough to make Jimmy stagger backwards for a second. “Wow. You were not mincing your words, hm? Come on.” Jimmy says as he adjusts his stance.

Jos rains punch after punch down onto the red cushion. Until everything in his right hand, from his fingernails to the bones in his forearm, burns and he is entirely out of breath.

Jimmy looks at him with a very telling grin. “Better?”

“Better.” Jos agrees once he gets his breath back.

“Right. Let’s get changed and go for lunch. And before you tell me something about not feeling hungry, I am not buying that. You need something to eat.” Jimmy pats Jos’ shoulder. “Good job, mate.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Jos almost forgets Craig’s visit.

A large plate of spaghetti arrabiata (“needs to be really spicy, otherwise what’s the point?”), followed by three of the brownies (“come on, take the last one, I’m stuffed”) and a really excellent cappuccino (“worth making a detour for, hm?”) leave him pleasantly filled.

Jimmy – something Jos would never have believed him to be capable of – holds up both ends of the conversation, does not force him to talk. Keeps Jos distracted by telling him stories of his early days in the England team, of Nasser Hussain’s ongoing attempts to enforce at least a minimum of discipline in the changing room. “Nas was a good captain, Jos. He just couldn’t make Swanny listen.” Jimmy says while they wander around the Salford Docks. And there is an interesting look on his face. Almost as if he is lost in a memory. Or thinking of someone who means a lot to him.

“Anyway.” Jimmy continues in a slightly odd, unusually gentle tone. Coughs to clear his throat. “I need to finish packing.” he explains, looking at his watch.  “Of course, I shouldn’t have taken up so much of your time.” Jos hurriedly replies.

Jimmy rolls his eyes fondly. “That was necessary. I … well I’ve been there before.” He takes his car keys out of his jeans pocket. “I’ll take you home first of all, though. Do you think you’re gonna be okay until Thursday? I … dunno, call your mum or something like that. That’s what I would do.” Jimmy unlocks the car.

“Not sure I want to talk to her right now.” Jos mumbles and gets into the passenger seat. His homesickness has gotten better since the start of training, true. Nevertheless, he is not sure whether he wants to be reminded just how far away his parents are. Not today.

“Then…” Jimmy ponders his answer while they follow the satnav out of the harbour area. “Then make sure the house isn’t completely quiet when you come home. Turn the telly on or something. Anything that distracts you. Otherwise ..., your thoughts become too loud.” Again, his face takes on an interesting expression. Slightly melancholic, Jos thinks. _He **is** speaking from experience._

 

After an unplanned detour, Jimmy pulls his car up in front of Jos’ house. “There you go. I … well I’ll pick you up at 8ish on Thursday morning?” “Sure, thanks.” Jos says and puts his sunglasses back on.

Jimmy picks up the empty paper bag and leaves the car. Throws the bag into the bin in front of Jos’ house. Holds his arms out for another hug. “You know, you can always come to me on tour. If it starts to hurt again. No, not if, when. Because it will. But you’ll get over it.” he says affectionately.

“Thanks mate.” Jos squeezes Jimmy’s hand. “I’ll turn the radio on as soon as I get in.”

“Good idea, my mate Greg James’s show is still on until 7!” Jimmy shouts behind him while Jos makes his way to his front door. Watches Jos struggle to open the door, give a little annoyed grunt, followed by a very-much-Ali-like “ha!” as he remembers the correct key.

_You’re a good kid, Jos. Too good for Kieswetter, in any case._

 

Jimmy gets back in his car again.

_I … yes, that’s probably  a good idea. I have no idea where that’s coming from, though._

Retrieving his phone from the handsfree system, Jimmy opens the menu. Scrolls through his messages until he finds a button saying “group text”. Selects all his England teammates from his contacts.

**Lads, a heads-up before we meet on Thursday morning. Jos is going through a bad break-up. Go easy on him, please…. Or we will have words.**

Hits “send”, plugs his phone back in again.

_The least I can do._

“Joey?” His mum asks, a mixture of worry and amusement. “Are you okay?”

Joe does not hear her. Stares at his phone in disbelief. His heart pounds in his ears. Reads the text Jimmy sent over and over again, registers the words but can hardly believe what they say.

“Oi, get a move on or I’m picking the ice-cream for all of us!” Billy amicably cuffs him round the ear.

Shoves Joe aside so he can have a look at the supermarket freezer.

 

Joe does not care.

Does not know whether he wants to celebrate or panic. Whether this calls for one of his trademark leaps of joy or a flight back to his bedroom once they are done with grocery shopping.

Reads the message again.

_Jos is single. Jos. Is. Single. Jos. Has. No. Boyfriend._

_How on earth am I supposed to react when I see him on Thursday?_

 


	8. 665

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Southampton, July 2014.  
> The rollercoaster ride continues for the test team.  
> Matt has to announce his immediate retirement.  
> Followed by Joe just about managing to contain himself as Ali confirms Jos will take over the gloves in the upcoming third test against India.  
> An overdue debut ... and in the safety of a hotel room, a blossoming friendship heads off in an entirely new direction.

The elephant in the room.

Today is the first day Joe fully understands this phrase.

While he gets ready for training, unable to decide which pair of gloves he should use – the ones he had during their crushing defeat at Lord’s, which could be a potential bad omen, or the new ones he bought just before the series began, which still need to be broken in – the usual chat fills the changing room around him. Recent  events in the football transfer market, the fallout from Brazil’s devastating 1-7 loss to Germany in the semi-final, holiday plans for September … if you did not listen too closely, you would almost think it was an ordinary training day in the middle of a five-match series.

 _But it’s far from that,_ Joe realises as he flexes his fingers in the new gloves, grips his bat and tries to decide if he likes the feeling. _It’s almost 10 and there’s still no sign of Cooky._

_Or Matt._

Joe is not sure if he was the first to pick up on it when he saw Matt pull up during their warm-up in Lord’s earlier last week. Over the course of those – cursed – five days, however, it became obvious to everyone. Matt, their stalwart behind the stumps, Stuart’s long-term roommate and best friend – was not feeling well at all. Joe does not know whether the achilles injury is an old one or whether Matt picked it up in training recently.

Not that it made the slightest bit of difference.

_You could see it during the presentations. He’s in a lot of pain._

_And why did my mind have to go there, now._ Joe curses himself. _That’s unfair to Matt. And NOT HELPING AT ALL, Joseph, do you understand me?_

A cool, slightly wet thing touches Joe’s arm and he flinches. “What on … oh, Chris. Sorry.” “Been asking you for about three minutes if you also want an apple. But you were miles away by the looks of it. ” Chris chuckles and hands the yellow round fruit to Joe. A friendly smile lights up his face, his cheeks are mildly flushed (as usual).

 _Woakesy. Really the nicest bloke you can think of._ “Cheers mate.” Joe says and takes a bite. _No idea how he does it, but he always gets you to cheer up._

Joe eats his apple and looks around the changing room. Ian, trying his best to polish his glasses. Sam, Gary and Mo, examining Mo’s newest bat and continuing their football debate (which, apparently, has now moved on to appropriate ways of disciplining Luis Suarez). Stuart, Jimmy and CJ, finishing their coffees while stretching.

It was during the Sri Lanka series in May ( _no, Joseph, we are not thinking about that last day at Headingley_ ) that it hit Joe for the first time. Going on two years since his Test debut, an Ashes victory, even a few centuries in England colours (and an Ashes series Joe has resolved not to talk about unless he absolutely has to). _I’ve established myself in this team._

_I really belong here._

Which is something he needs to remind himself of every now and again. It was all he has been dreaming of for a such a long time. _And now it’s really happened. And I’m… where is he?_

Before Joe can make up his mind whether he wants to send Cooky a text, the door opens.

Three men in England training kit step into the changing room which instantly falls silent. One look at Matt and Cooky serves to tell Joe that something is wrong.

Matt’s face is pale, and he is favouring his right leg (a sight they have all gotten used to over the last days). His jaw is clenched, making it obvious he is trying his best to keep his emotions in check. Cooky has a hand on Matt’s left shoulder (a familiar gesture). He smiles faintly in Joe’s direction.

Peter Moores, their head coach, has an even more earnest expression on his face than usual as he addresses his team in a hoarse voice: “Lads, we need to tell you something. Matt?”

Matt swallows. Avoids Stuart’s eyes, looks straight ahead. Makes a few false starts before he eventually, quieter than usual, finds the words he’s looking for. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I’ve been to our doctor this morning, I had one hell of a night….”, he sighs deeply, “…and they told me I’m gonna need surgery on my Achilles. Must have torn it without realising or something, I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I … I’m out. With immediate effect. They’re trying to find a date for the surgery somewhere next week.” The last sentence was only a whisper.

To his right, Joe hears Stuart mouth a stunned (and shaky) “shit”. Other than that, everything is quiet.

“I … wow. I’m sorry, mate,” Ian eventually says and crosses the room to hug Matt.

Who looks as if he is fighting not to break down.

The others follow at a distance, at a loss for words. “Keep us updated,” Chris tells Matt. “I’ll try and visit you in hospital.” “Me too,” Mo hands Matt one of his chocolate bars which brings a brief smile to Matt’s face. “I… I’m so sorry for you.” CJ says, giving Matt a one-armed hug.

“Oh, you’ll be back, Matty.” Joe’s attempt at sounding upbeat fails miserably. _I did not believe that myself. And he knows it._ Matt smiles sadly. “Thanks for keeping the faith, Rooty.”

In the meantime, Cooky has finished padding up and puts his gloves on. Looking, Joe thinks, as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Pale, with an unreadable expression. And even quieter than usual. Once again. A depressingly regular sight since November last year. _I still haven’t gotten around to asking him about it,_ Joe remembers while he (thinks he can) hear Cooky stifle a sigh. _And I need to. He looks like he could do with a friend._

Not that Joe has a clue how to go about it, that is. And besides, is that not Jimmy’s job?

Shaking his head, Joe ties his shoelaces. “Are you all done, lads?” Peter asks. “Right. Go run a few laps around the track to warm up. I’m going to get the thera bands from the cupboard. And…” He puts a hand on Stuart’s shoulder. “Stu, take your time. Catch up with us in ten minutes, okay?”

Stuart nods unsteadily. Has not moved an inch since Matt’s announcement. There are unmistakeable tears in his eyes. _I can’t begin to imagine what that feels like. Having to say goodbye to your best friend._ Joe shoots Stuart a brief – hopefully – supportive look while he leaves the changing room.

“I’ll be watching, lads!” Matt tells them as they head out to the pitch. Sits down next to Stuart and wraps an arm around him. “Come here, mate.”

 

Training this morning is a quiet affair, with none of their usual jokes or other attempts to lighten their mood. _That was Swanny’s job. But even he would find it hard to cheer us up today._ They keep their discussions short, business-like, entirely focused on the upcoming third test and the possible changes to the Indian XI. A defeat in the second test, at least going by Joe’s limited experience, does not mean the end of the world. Still enough time to salvage the series. Maybe even …

Then again, the mood that has settled over the England camp is not exactly helpful if they want to put everything behind them and give the Indians a run for their money on Sunday. As much as Cooky tries to keep his emotions to himself, the pressure seems to start to get to him. Something his players are beginning to pick up on, already causing a few short arguments in the middle of training.

 _Nowhere near as bad as Australia,_ Joe reminds himself while he helps CJ and Mo collect the rest of the red balls and put them back in the box. They alone seem completely undisturbed, laughing with each other, asking Joe if he wants to join them for a little contraband “second dinner” the following day. Granted, until now Joe has not been sure if he wants to believe the stories about Mo’s ability to sneak food into their hotel – but there is no denying he could do with a little distraction.

So, closing the box with a little extra effort – the lock sounds like it has not been oiled in some time – Joe tells his Brummie friend that he’s looking forward to it, provided there are no pistachios in Mo’s storage drawer. “You do have odd preferences,” Mo laughs and pats Joe’s back. “But fine, I’ll make sure there’s something in it for you.” A conspiratory grin lights up his face. “I have sources for everything.” “Trade secret, though.” CJ puts a finger on his lips and winks at Mo.

In a considerably lighter mood, Joe goes back upstairs to have a shower. Finally, time to allow himself to think what he did not want to before, for fear of putting him off training completely (and there is still no guarantee he’s always going to play, so he’d best knuckle down and put in a proper performance day in day out).

 _Who’s gonna take over from Matt? There’s Jonny back at Headingley, sure. But he hasn’t played a lot this year and maybe they think it’s too much of a risk, after all it’s India and not everyone can handle that on their test debut … unless they’re Cooky and me_ (and Joe feels his cheeks heating up slightly), _that is._

_So … I don’t know, I haven’t paid a lot of attention to the County games since we came back._

_But if they asked me (which they won’t, it’s ridiculous to assume they might value my opinion), there’s really only one choice._

Joe’s eyes start to burn and he squeezes them shut.

“Shit.” he says a little louder than he wanted and hears Jimmy laugh from outdoors. “What’s wrong?” “Shampoo in my eyes, fuck’s sake.” Joe grumbles and rinses them out as good as he can, stopping himself from cursing under his breath. _You are hopeless, Joseph. Just a thought of him and you completely forget what you’re doing._

Dried and changed (the tracksuits do feel nice after you had a proper wash), Joe goes back to the changing room to pack up his kitbag.

And walks right into the middle of a hushed discussion between Peter and Cooky.

“So he said yes?” Peter asks and Cooky nods. “He’s going to be with us in time for the afternoon session tomorrow.” Then – Joe has no idea how he does that – his captain notices Joe’s watching them. And smiles. Which looks a bit more genuine than earlier on the pitch, after Sam complimented his cover drive. “Just spoke to Jos,” Cooky tells Joe. “He’s coming down tomorrow. Which means – we need to get everything ready. Caps, shirt, the whole procedure. What number is he gonna be, Pete?”

Peter smiles. “665.”

_Six-six-five. Six hundred and sixty-five. There’s only 10 numbers between us._

Joe’s heart pounds against his ribcage. _He’s gonna be with us. He’s going to join me in the Test team. Just as I predicted in May. I’m gonna see him again and we …_

“Joe? Everything okay?” Cooky waves his hand in front of Joe’s eyes. Laughs softly (a very rare sound. Makes Joe feel a bit relieved. Good to know mischievous, funny Cooky is still in there somewhere).

“Erm… sure. No idea what I was thinking. I was miles away. So, brilliant! We have a new keeper. Perfect. Is he going to get Matt’s room? And also … sorry, I need something to eat.” Joe stumbles over his last sentence and hurries out of the changing room. _Well done. Completely made an arse out of yourself,_ he sighs while he runs after Chris who gave him a lift this morning.

Peter and Cooky watch him leave, slightly confused. “What was that about?” Peter says while he helps Cooky collect the remaining socks off the floor (belonging to CJ going by the size of them).

“No idea.” Cooky shrugs. “Looking forward to lunch.”

 

Jos has excellent timing, as usual. Exactly a minute after Joe comes back from the afternoon nets session (not his best performance at all, Jimmy had to yell at him three times because he was not paying attention and he edged a couple of very obvious shots), his phone buzzes and the familiar three letters light up his screen (and subsequently, Joe’s face).

**help.**

_Poor lad,_ Joe smiles to himself. _As nervous as I was on that October morning._

 **how can I help?** , he texts back, storing his helmet in his bag.

**no idea. just talk to me pls. have packed and unpacked my suitcase about three times. definitely gonna forget stuff. do u have a spare pair of gloves just in case?**

**slow down, mate. yes u can borrow my gloves if that calms u down.**

**wait are we the same size? I mean do we wear the same size?**

**yes,** Joe types in less than a second. Immediately scolds himself after he presses “send”. _That sounded downright creepy, Joseph._

**how do u know?**

**I just do.** _(Now you’re making it worse, you twit)._

**okay then. :) best way to get to Southampton from Manchester? am worried im gonna lose my way. happened before.**

**dunno. ask jimmy. or should I ask him for u?**

**please.**

“Hey Jim?” Joe calls, craning his neck to look for his teammate (and friend, you do not break the world record for a 10th wicket – partnership without becoming friends in the process).

“Yeah?” comes the reply from somewhere next to the closets. Grumpy, but not entirely. As usual.

“Jos needs your help. He’s not entirely sure how to reach us tomorrow.” Joe tells Jimmy.

Jimmy sticks his head out of the closet and Joe is surprised to see a genuine smile on his face. “Tell him I’ll call him once I’m done here.” Jimmy says in a gentler tone than usual. “Mind giving me a hand with these boxes?” “Sure,” Joe wanders over to join him. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Superstition.” Jimmy shrugs. “I’m trying to look for a few properly used balls. Cooky and me always spend a morning in the nets with some older ones. Helps us both.” And again, Jimmy smiles. Almost bashful, Joe thinks surprised. “I’ll give you a hand.” Joe gets on his toes and opens the next cardboard box.

“So Jos is gonna take the gloves from Matt?” Jimmy says, weighing a red leather ball in his hand. “Looks that way.” Joe tries to hide his face.

“Brilliant.” Jimmy sounds genuinely excited. “It’s been coming for a while, he’s brilliant in the ODIs and it’s about time he gets a run in in proper cricket.” Joe nods while Jimmy passes the ball to him. “That one looks good, what do you think?”

“Feels good.” Joe replies after a careful examination. “He could do with our help, though. Think he’s a bit nervous.” _Nice one, Joseph. Did not fall into the trap this time._

“Of course he is.” Jimmy lets the ball drop into his kitbag. “I’m gonna talk to him. We’ll make him feel at home.” he adds and puts an arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Right, two more and I’m off.”

 

That night, Joe can barely appreciate the excellent meals in their hotel restaurant. Has to remind himself to keep eating while he feels his phone in his back pocket (silent mode switched on as usual, it’s only polite). Knows there will be more than a few messages waiting for him once he is finally able to escape to his room. _We won’t ever be anything more than that. But that’s nice too._

As soon as he thinks he can get away with it, Joe leaves the restaurant and goes upstairs. Curls up in his bed, turns the telly on with the volume as low as possible (those quiz shows are good to keep on in the background) and looks at his phone.

**can’t find my socks. my lucky socks that is.**

**i bloody knew it. happens to me all the bloody time.**

**how exactly do they think I’m ready for this.**

**okay found my socks.**

**need to eat something. wonder if I can keep anything down.**

Followed, five minutes later by:  **not panicking here. at all.**

 **don’t believe u,** Joe replies and smiles.

Only a second later, his phone rings. _Keep breathing,_ Joe thinks before he picks up. “Mate?”

“Hi.” Jos sounds every bit as anxious as Joe imagined. “I’ve just finished panicking. I mean, packing.” A strangled laugh. “I always had a bit of an issue with nerves. I mean … I wasn’t expecting that, not at Matt’s expense anyway and … you still there?”

“Of course. I’m simply listening to you.”

“That helps. God, I hope I’ve got this under control by tomorrow afternoon. Cooky needs to know he is getting an actual replacement for Matt. Not a nervous 23-year-old who hasn’t got any experience.” A switch flicks in the background. Water starts to bubble.

“Oh you’re gonna be fine. Jimmy’s already said he’s looking after you. And … me too. If I can be of any help. Having a cuppa?” Joe asks and hopes Jos does not hear him smile.

“What else. Tea’s never let me down.” Joe hears Jos rummaging through his cupboard. “And … how is everyone? Especially Stu? The news must have hit him hard.” A spoon clangs against something that sounds like porcelain.

“It did. But let’s not talk about that. There’s this odd quiz show on ITV at the moment. You watching it too?” “No, should I?” “Yes. It’s quite funny. Could help you. If you want to think about something other than freaking out ahead of tomorrow.”

“Okay then, give me a second. Tea should be done in two minutes.”

With an ease that surprises Joe (then again, this is far from the first evening they have spent talking to each other), he falls into a comfortable chat with Jos. Taking turns to guess the answers to the questions on the TV screen, complimenting each other if they get it right (which every so often produces that unbelievably fantastic laugh that Joe loves most of all about Jos). Sharing their thoughts on the Indians, praising Virat Kohli first and foremost, wondering if he is going to get even better in the remaining few games of the series.

As the show finishes, Joe hears Jos yawn at the other end of the line. “I think I should head off now.” he says and sounds weary. “Of course. Hope you can sleep.” Joe says, switching the TV off. “Think so.” Jos yawns again. “Thanks, mate. You’ve been brilliant tonight.”

“My pleasure,” Joe says and immediately wants to slap himself. “I mean … least I could do. Have a good night.” “Same to you.”

 _That depends on my dreams,_ Joe hangs up with a wide stupid smile on his face. Whistling to himself, he goes to the bathroom to give his teeth a brush (some things have to be done, no matter how much you could fall asleep every second). _Less than half a day to go._

Joe does not hear anything from Jos until right after lunch the following day except for an urgent text – **someone pls tell me when I’m supposed to get off the M40!! -.** Amused, he hands his phone to Jimmy. “You do it, mate. You should know the route better than me.”

Just as Joe wants to get a bottle of sunscreen from his room ahead of the afternoon training session, a suitcase is being dragged up the stairs at the hotel entrance. Without looking, Joe knows that can only mean one thing. _Just don’t embarrass yourself, okay? A simple “hi” is more than enough. You’re not flirting with him. Understood?_ He tries to keep breathing as normal as possible, hopes the flush on his cheeks is not as crimson as it feels.

The next thing Joe knows, however, a breathtakingly gorgeous pair of eyes smiles at him from the reception. “Perfect timing.” Jos says, crosses the lobby and gives Joe a hug. Enough to make Joe entirely forget what he was about to say. And only able to whisper: “about bloody time.”

“When are we leaving?” Jos asks, hand still on Joe’s left shoulder.

“I …” Joe coughs to clear his throat. “Twenty minutes. I’m coming with you, I need my sunscreen.”

“That hot?” Jos asks while they wait for the elevator.  “Worse. Mo’s got quite the bad sunburn on his right foot on Sunday. Don’t ask me how or why.” Joe tries to laugh but it comes out strangely squeaky. “How are your nerves?” he asks instead. “Holding up. As soon as I saw the exit for Southampton, they simply disappeared. Can’t wait to throw myself around on the grass.” Jos smiles, sending shockwaves through Joe. _I would do anything. Anything to keep you smiling like that._

“Can’t wait to see that. See you in 10 minutes?” “Sure.”

 

More excited than he has been all week, Joe packs his kitbag and heads off for training. It feels like forever he has seen Jos do his job (even though it has barely been two weeks). There is something mesmerising about watching him when he is, as he once called it, “floating”, jumping,  throwing himself in all sorts of directions, making even the hardest catches look like a sleight of hand.

 _And now I get to see that during an actual test match. Brilliant._ Joe stops just short of rubbing his hands excitedly. Does not want to make Chris, their “taxi” for the third time in a row, suspicious (he is quite good at picking up anything extraordinary).

Cooky already waits for Jos when they arrive at the Rose Bowl. “Welcome.” he says and the smile he gives his new wicketkeeper looks every bit as sincere as Joe hoped it would be. “I told you it was only going to be a matter of time.” “Thanks.” Jos replies, slightly flustered, shaking his captain’s hand. “Didn’t want it to come at Matty’s expense, though.” Cooky shakes his head. “Don’t think like that. You’ve earned your place and I don’t want you to feel burdened by expectations. I’ve seen you bat. And I’ve seen you keep. I know you’re good. Just play like you normally would and you’ll be fine.” he says, squeezing Jos’ shoulder. Then, as if something suddenly came back to him, he looks Jos directly in the eyes.

“And … on Saturday evening, I’m taking you out for dinner. It’s sort of a tradition I started since I took over as captain. I’m doing that with every new teammate.” Surprised, Joe catches Cooky winking at him. And smiles back. _Seems I’ve planted an idea in his head back in Dubai._  “Okay then, number six-six-five. Show us what you can do.” Cooky pats Jos’ back. “See you on the field.”

 

Jos’ first training with the Test team passes in a complete blur, leaving him no time to be nervous even for a second. Instead, as soon as he puts his keeper’s gloves back on after an hour in the nets, he feels even the last bit of apprehension leave his body. _I earned my place in this team. I’m going to prove all of them right,_ he tells himself while he squats down behind the stumps.

And makes an absolute blinder (at least that’s what a delighted Joe yells in his ear) of a catch, stretching high behind him, plucking the red leather cherry out of the air as if it was an actual cherry in his brother’s garden in Taunton. “Great job, mate!” Stuart, whose delivery he caught, gives him a hug.

_I belong here. I’ve been waiting for this for ages._

The feeling stays with Jos for the next three days. In the nets, joining Chris and Ian for runs, watching TV or playing FIFA with Stuart and Sam in the evenings. _And I’m going to prove all of you right,_ he keeps reminding himself every so often. Feels a rush of pride as he does so.

Even dinner with Cooky, slightly awkward at first because they have, until now, not spent this much time with each other, turns out to be a lot nicer than Jos thought. They quickly find common ground, spend an increasingly funny hour and a half discussing everything from gardening problems to favourite curry recipes.

“Jos, don’t worry. You’re gonna be fine tomorrow morning.” Cooky says as they leave the hotel restaurant. “Thanks. You too.” Jos says sincerely. Which earns him an insecure but kind smile. “Have a good night’s sleep.” Cooky says, gives Jos a hug and heads off in the direction of the pool table.

 

Of course, as soon as his alarm rings (quarter to seven, that is no time at all), the apprehension is back in full force. Lightheaded and with weak legs, Jos has a shower, only dares to comb his hair as cursorily as possible, hardly knows how he manages to find his tracksuit and pull everything on the right way round.

"You okay?" Joe asks quietly as Jos slumps into a seat next to him at the dining table. "Not sure." he replies. "Don't worry, you'll be fine once we get to the ground." Joe tells Jos with a cheerful smile and squeezes his shoulder. "And we're all in the same boat. Win together, lose together. Right?" "Right." Jos nods weakly. "I..." "Coffee? I'm gonna fetch you one, okay?" Joe suggests, giving him another wink. "Thanks." Jos says softly.

Smiling to himself, Joe gets up. _He's gonna be alright. I know he is. And I'll do my best to make sure of it._

 

At the toss, something happens that pushes Joe’s plans to look after Jos entirely to the back of his mind. As soon as Cooky and MS Dhoni walk out to the middle where the umpires already wait for them, coin in hand, the entire crowd in the Rose Bowl rises to its feet. Applauds their captain.

Who, going by the look Joe sees flashing across his face as he comes sprinting back to the changing room, looking for his pads and gloves, had no idea how to react to this warm reception.

As the two teams line up for the anthems, the noise from the stands increases even further. With Cooky’s Barmy Army song being joined in by – going by the sounds of it – virtually everyone (including, although he vehemently denies it afterwards, Jimmy).

“Go well,” Joe tells his captain before they leave the pitch. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Cooky nods. Smiles. And concentrates again.

 

By lunchtime, with Cooky 47 not out (his biggest score in a while), it has become obvious even to Gary (who’s never been the quickest at catching up with events) that there is something going on in the stands. Warm applause follows them off the pitch, keeps going for a while until Cooky and Gary come back upstairs. To the peace and quiet of a mildly impressed changing room.

“Crowd’s excellent today,” Sam says as he hands Gary a banana. “Absolutely! Wonder if they planned it in advance? I haven’t heard them as clearly since the Ashes last year.” Gary replies, taking a bite off his fruit and letting his pads drop on the ground. “I’m starving. Chef, what are you having?”

“Oh don’t worry about me, I’ve got some leftovers from yesterday.” Cooky shrugs, but it does not convince Joe at all. Trying to be inconspicuous, something he has not always been good at, Joe sneaks a glance at his captain. Who is still looking a bit pale and … emotional? Is that the right word? There is definitely a faint shine in Cooky’s dark brown eyes.

_He heard it. Everything. I know he’s always maintained that he shuts everything out when he’s batting, but today? I mean how couldn’t he? They were applauding every single run by the sounds of it._

_Maybe I should talk to him,_ Joe ponders while he lines up in the lunch queue. “Try the tuna spaghetti,” he says, turning to Jos. “They were excellent last time.”

 

All through the afternoon, chants ring around the ground. “A bit like Edgbaston,” Chris can not resist to say while the balcony applauds Cooky for his 50. “Nowhere near as loud though.” he adds with a smirk. Joe tries to catch Cooky’s eyes. Gives him a wink. _Told you you’re gonna be fine._

When Cooky does eventually fall to a MS Dhoni catch, five – just five! – agonising runs short of his first century in a while, there are disappointed sighs all over the Rose Bowl. Including a few in the changing room. “And I was sure he’d get a ton,” Ian says while he pads up. “It would have done him a world of good.”

Joe agrees silently while standing ovations – standing ovations, for 95 runs! – accompany Cooky. While his Barmy Army song starts up in the East Stand, for the sixth time this afternoon. Joined in by more than a few of his teammates.

“Out of the way,” Stuart gives Joe a gentle push. “Someone’s about to sit on the bench for at least a quarter of an hour and stare into space.” Jos gives Stuart a quizzical look. “Oh you’ve never seen that before? Cooky always does that. Don’t talk to him until 15 minutes have passed. He’s … needs to process it when he gets out.” Stuart exchanges a grin with Jimmy. “Some things will never change.”

Whistling, Jimmy clears the bench next to him.

“Hello darkness, my old friend?” Jos laughs as he recognises the melody.  “What else. It’s almost a work of art.” Jimmy grins. “No word to him, okay? Not if you want to suffer a slow and painful death.” he adds and wags his finger menacingly.

 

Mindful not to disturb Cooky, Joe continues his UNO game with Mo and Sam. Only occasionally looks over at his captain, sitting on the bench with his head in his hands. Swallowing. Unusually frequently. _Okay, something is up. Whatever it really is, Cooky, I hope you …_ “Hey, you twit, I just made you draw eight!” Sam cuffs Joe round the ear. “Okay, okay, sorry.” Joe replies. Is glad for the interruption. _Not my place._

 

With the scoreboard looking healthy – 247 for 2, more than a decent start –  they climb back in the bus after stumps, chatting and dissecting the day’s play. Jos looks relieved that Joe’s prediction came true while he shares a handful of nuts with Ian, offers his opinion a little more easily than Joe is used to from him. _See,_ Joe tries to tell him. _You’ll be fine. We don’t bite. Give it a couple of days and you’ll feel as if you’ve played forever with these lads._

All the while, Cooky remains seated in his usual spot at the back of the bus. Looks out of the window. Evidently lost in thoughts.   _I’m gonna ask him tomorrow morning. When we’re out for our usual run,_ Joe resolves as they arrive at their hotel. _Now … I could murder a steak. And I haven’t done anything today. Maybe Jimmy was on to something._

Dinner lives up to Joe’s expectations. A grilled chicken filet with rice, generous (third and fourth, that is) helpings of potato salad and even (after checking that nobody is judging him for it) a small slice of carrot cake. Fantastic stuff. Almost as good as his grandma’s favourite recipe (a thought that stings, for about half a second. Even after two years, Joe does miss his folks when he’s on tour).

“What are we doing?” Gary asks after everyone has finished dessert (except for Cooky, who once again left as soon as he finished his meal, claiming he “needed the extra sleep”). “Anyone want to play FIFA?” Sam suggests and Stuart immediately takes him up on the offer. “Right, my room in 15 minutes.”

“I’m gonna call it a night.” Jos says to Joe. “I’m … not sure how many hours I’ll manage ahead of tomorrow.” “Have a cuppa before you switch the light off.” Joe suggests, giving Jos’ arm a brief squeeze. “Helps me sleep.”

While he watches Jos join Sam and Gary in the lift, Joe thinks about everything that happened on the field today. Something has been nagging at the back of his mind for hours and he is not sure how to put a name to it. _What did I forget. What is it,_ he wonders, trying to rack his brains. _I’m…_

 _I need to look after him,_ he realises with a start.

_Where did that just come from._

“Lads, I’m off.” Joe explains to CJ and Mo, wondering how strangely hoarse his voice sounded all of a sudden. “You okay?” Mo cocks an eyebrow. “Just stuffed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Save me a muffin if you can.”

“What’s gotten into him?” CJ asks Mo while Joe grabs his key from reception and goes to the staircase. Mo shrugs. “No idea.” he says and puts an arm round CJ’s shoulders. “Let’s continue our game, shall we? We’re gonna find out sooner or later.”

 

The corridor leading to their rooms is deserted when Joe enters it. Neon lights flicker overhead, making the entire floor feel like an old-time movie set, illuminating the few cobwebs in the corners. Everything is quiet. Except for muffled chats, some crime series playing on a TV nearby (Ramps, no doubt) and the occasional distant shout coming from the lads with their PlayStation.

Joe stops and leans against the wall opposite Cooky’s door. In two minds about everything. _I don’t even know if he wants that. Could be he wants to be on his own. It was a long day and he was very much in the spotlight through all of it. I should …_

 _He needs you._ A clear, unmistakeable realisation. Cutting through his confusion.

Making Joe act without thinking too much about it. Quietly, he crosses the corridor, trying to knock at Cooky’s door but finding, to his surprise, that it was already open. He pushes the door aside with a soft snick, steps into the room, closes it as gently as he can, does not want to startle Cooky.

At first, the sudden darkness Joe finds himself in makes it impossible to make out anything. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again after he has counted to ten (those Boy Scouts trips do come in handy eventually).

Gradually makes out a figure sitting on the sofa, staring out of the window.

“Erm. Cooky?” Joe whispers. “Don’t jump. It’s just me.” He coughs to clear his throat, wondering where the lump pressing down on his vocal cords just came from.

Slowly, Cooky turns in the direction of the noise. His eyes widen slightly. “Joe? Everything okay?”

“I was about to ask you. Can I …?” “Sure.” Cooky nods, sounds very surprised.

And unmistakeably emotional.

As Joe comes closer, he almost stops in his tracks. Cooky’s eyes are swimming in tears.

“I…” he chokes himself off. “Sorry. I’ll be…”

Joe bends down, pulls Cooky to his feet and wraps his arms around him.

 _What am I doing,_ he thinks about half a minute later. _I should have asked. I …_ But as he tries to break the hug (the actual first time they did this, as the heat creeping up his cheeks reminds him), he suddenly feels an arm snaking around his shoulders. Another arm wraps itself around Joe’s waist. A soft sound takes him by surprise, making him stumble, unsure how to react.

Cooky is crying. Silently, in that exhausted way Joe has only seen a few times. Like someone who has tried to deal with too many things on his own. Has gotten used to being on his own. And …

“Shh.” Joe whispers. In the same tone he has heard his mum use so many times when he was a boy. Feels odd. There are so many people who are better at this, people who would have known if this was the right thing to do, but … _stop thinking, Joe._

So instead, he decides to do the next thing that feels natural to him. Holds Cooky a little tighter. Hesitantly strokes his back. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to see it.”

After a while,  Cooky calms down again. “Sorry. I did not mean for you to … how did you notice?” he asks hoarsely, an arm still around Joe’s shoulders.

“I just did. I thought you … well after Lord’s … and Matt’s farewell … and that unbelievable reception this morning and all through the day …” Joe almost wants to pinch himself. _Just tell it like it is, fuck’s sake._ “I knew something was off. You’ve been struggling since lunch. And I thought … well I’d need someone to listen. If I was you.” he tells Cooky, his voice still sounding unusually gentle.

The look Joe gets in return is indescribable. Soft.  Surprised. And grateful.

“Thank you.” Cooky whispers. Voice still thick with emotion.

“Want to talk?” Joe tilts his head and looks Cooky in the eyes. Who struggles briefly with himself before nodding slowly. “I don’t want to put you off your game tomorrow…” “You won’t.” Joe sits down on the sofa and holds his arm out. “If you…”

And Cooky leans against him. Lets his head rest on Joe’s right shoulder.

A strange feeling settles on Joe. One he definitely can not put a name to.

 

Joe is not sure how many minutes, hours maybe, pass while they sit next to each other on the sofa. At first, there are a lot of silences, breaks, while Cooky is struggling to find the right words. Encouraged by Joe, listening more than he speaks, only offering an occasional acknowledgement or a friendly squeeze of his arm, he slowly manages to let go of everything that has been eating at him since Perth in December. And Joe feels him relax more and more while they speak.

“I…” Joe yawns. “Sorry, shouldn’t have kept you up so long.” Cooky pats his arm. “No need to apologise, mate. You … well?” Joe turns to look at Cooky. “You can always come to me. I know you have Jimmy and I know you’re strong enough to deal with it … but if you ever feel like you need to do this again, you know where to find me.”

Another unreadable expression. Followed by something almost like a grin.

“Off to bed with you,” Cooky says,  getting up from the sofa and accompanying Joe to the door. Stops for an instant. And embraces Joe again, holds him for a while.

“Joe?” he asks, stifling a yawn. It is so soft Joe is not sure whether he has imagined it.

“Yes?” he replies, nevertheless. Curious what comes next.

A warm affectionate smile lights up Cooky’s face. “Call me Ali.”

Joe is not sure what to reply. Returns his friend’s smile as the door closes behind him.

 

 _Something happened, tonight,_ he thinks as he curls up in bed twenty minutes later. _Something has changed. And it was all because I followed my instinct._

_A bloody good idea, that._

The following morning, the sun comes out again for the first time in a week. Lifting their spirits as the bus takes them back to the Rose Bowl, as they warm up, prepare for the second day. “We can do this, lads.” Stuart tells everyone before Gary and Ian go out into the middle. “We’ve had a brilliant start yesterday.” With pats and “go wells”, their batsmen leave the changing room.

And Joe makes himself comfortable on the balcony. Enjoys the sun. Tries to engage Sam and CJ in a discussion about their favourite FIFA tactics, hopes it will be interesting enough for Jos to join in.

Which it is. To Joe’s relief.

The morning sessions pass in a blur. Joe has an unsatisfying cameo after lunch (partially because he did not get enough sleep last night, but that was a small price to pay).

And then, Mo is out, victim of a lovely catch by Rahane. And it is time for Jos’ debut.

“Don’t do anything out of the ordinary.” Jimmy tells him while he helps Jos adjust his helmet. “Play like you always have. And it’s gonna be alright.”

Smiling insecurely, Jos exchanges a look with Joe, takes a deep breath and closes the door behind him. 

 

It is exactly like Joe predicted. As soon as Jos’ feet touch the grass, as Ian comes to meet him and bump gloves with him, his nerves have evaporated. _An ordinary innings._ His first ball is an easy leave and he feels himself relax. _I can do this._

The runs tick past. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. And then, in the late afternoon, Ian chips a ball just over extra cover, scores a single and puts Jos back on strike.

His next ball is a beauty. A single.

Fifty. A half-century on debut. _Only fifty to go,_ Joe gestures from above. Making Jos laugh. _That’s nonsense._

 

This is, however, as good as it gets. After a few tests, Jadeja finally finds Jos' edge and Jos drags the ball on to his off stump. Still, what a debut. What a first impression.

Cooky shouts something from the balcony, gestures for Jos to hurry up and join them upstairs.

_He’s declared, of course he has. How many do we have? Almost 600? I wasn’t paying attention._

_I can ask the others later, mind you._

_Now … time for my second most favourite thing of the job._

_Where did I leave my gloves again?_


	9. I could do without feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe's plans for the celebration after their win against India are cut short when a casual comment hits him like a bouncer.  
> And then ... things become very weird all of a sudden.

The Rose Bowl collectively holds its breath.

 _Now. Come on Mo,_ Joe thinks, crouching down in the slips, eyes fixed on the red ball in the bearded spinner’s hand as Mo runs in and …

the ball crashes into Pankaj Singh’s off-stump.

“FUCK YES!” Joe is not sure if the shout he heard just came from him. Does not care. Immense relief and pride shoot through him as he sprints to Ian and hugs him fiercely. “Finally!” Ian grins from one ear to the other. “Told you it was only a matter of time.” “I’m learning to trust you, Belly.” Joe laughs and slaps Ian’s back. “Now where’s Dumbledore?” he adds over the din around him – someone in the stands must have brought a trumpet, playing a very off-key version of “Sweet Caroline”. Ian cranes his neck. “There, he’s just disappeared under CJ and Stu!”

Arm in arm, Joe and Ian run to Mo, who is trying to scramble to his feet, the red leather ball still clutched in his right hand, grinning as widely as possible behind his lush black beard. “Bowled, mate!” Joe high-fives Mo. “Thanks.” Mo smiles. “Cooky, you made the right call this morning!” he says, smiling at their captain who, his joy clearly visible behind the sunglasses, has just arrived to join the celebratory pile-up, Jimmy hot on his heels.

“I just had a hunch!” Ali hugs Mo. “Brilliant hunch, that,” Jimmy laughs. “Mo, you made the Indians look as if they have never played spin before. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Thanks.” Ali adds softly in Joe’s direction. _For what. I was just speaking my mind this morning,_ Joe tries to shrug it off, but he can feel the smile trying to split his face in half. Followed by an entirely different smile – and a million butterflies at the same time – as an arm with a wicketkeeper’s glove wraps itself around Joe’s shoulders. “You were brilliant,” a beaming Jos shouts excitedly. Beaming. _That’s my most favourite thing about today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy._

“You were ALL brilliant!” Ali yells over the racket while they form a huddle. Matching grinning faces look at their captain. “I’m not going to single anyone out, you all played a part and we wouldn’t have won this without every single one of you. Thanks, guys. This was … feels pretty good. But, one thing…” Ali turns to his wicketkeeper, “welcome to the Test side, Jos!”

Applause from everyone. Making Jos bite his lip, unsure where to look. “Thanks, I didn’t …” “Oh bollocks.” Jimmy pats his back. “Don’t even try. You made a brilliant first impression.”

Gary pulls a stump out of the ground and hands it to Mo. “Use them in your garden, they’re quite good for tying plants to them,” he suggests and Mo laughs. “Nonsense. I’ve cleared a shelf in my living room and that one’s gonna go right up there.”

Exchanging the customary (and definitely sincere, although there is something satisfactory about it if they remember MS Dhoni’s comments before the first day) handshakes and friendly comments with the Indians, Joe joins the others in a victory lap around the ground. Looks for his parents, waving at him from the stands, his mum sporting a brand-new sun hat with … the Barmy Army logo on it? _Took me long enough but I finally convinced them,_ he thinks and smiles to himself as Stuart waves him over – of course, today the press can have all the victory photos they want.

Presentations done and dusted (Mo should have won man of the match if it was up to Joe, not that he doesn’t agree Jimmy deserved it, but that spell today was worth a dozen prizes alone), everyone follows Ali to the changing room. Glad for a place in the shade, it is starting to get uncomfortably warm now.

“So, it’s only half past one. What are we gonna do with the rest of this Thursday?” Gary’s attempt to sound casual is thwarted by the wide grin on his face. Ali immediately understands what he is trying to say. “I … okay then, we do have three days off. If anyone wants to, let’s go out tonight. Make the most of the occasion. But …” “Yes, of course, we’re gonna be back by 12:30,” Gary finishes his sentence and gives Ali a thumbs-up. “Any suggestions?” “Let’s go to the Ocean Village and see where we end up,” Ian, pulling his whites over his head, replies. “Good one, mate. Would be a shame if we’re down south and don’t even see the sea.” Stuart pulls his socks off and rolls them into a ball.

“About bloody time.” “Christ’s sake, Stu, you trying to knock me out or what?” Jimmy recoils and laughs. “Since I just offended Jimmy’s delicate senses, I’m getting first dibs on the shower.” Stuart retorts, as always very much up for the challenge. “I’m just stating a fact! Your socks are a public health hazard.” “Not as bad as Sam’s were yesterday,” Ian joins in. “That’s exactly why I brought a spare pair today…” Sam reaches into his kitbag and freezes.

The changing room falls silent. “What’s up?” In slow-motion, Sam takes his right hand out of the bag. Holding up a pair of clean white team-issue socks … with the heels neatly cut off by a pair of scissors. “What. On. Earth.” he mutters, stunned by his discovery. “Not this again?” Ian rolls his eyes and catches Jos’ surprised expression.

“Right, you won’t have heard that before, Jos. There’s … we’ve been haunted since the home Ashes last year. Someone keeps cutting our socks and … Rooty, you trying to tell us something, mate?” Ian whirls around and rounds on Joe. Who can ( _as usual, I really need to work on my poker face_ ) feel himself turning bright red. “I …” Joe laughs slightly awkwardly. _Swanny would have a thing or two to say to me. I’ll never be as good at him as this. But it’s just so much fun._

“I knew it. Shouldn’t have told us that story about the Yorkshire Ripper,” Jimmy laughs and throws his pair of socks at Joe, hitting him square on the nose. “Ouch! You’re gonna pay for that,” Joe shouts, picking the missile up from the floor and running after Jimmy. Who quickly ducks behind Ian, sending Joe crashing into him. “Oi, leave me out of this!”

“Don’t get injured, lads,” Ali shakes his head fondly and grabs his towel. “Half past eight okay with you?” A sock hisses past his ear. “How old are you again?”

“Come on, Cooky, you should know us by now!” Ian, straightening his glasses, replies and throws a fresh ball of socks at Sam. “And yes, eight-thirty is fine.”

“That happens every single … ow, fuck’s sake, out of all places, you’re going for my nose?” Joe wags his finger at Jimmy. “Yes, that happens every time, Jos, don’t worry.”

“I’m used to worse. Not from Somerset, although we did get up to some stupid things in the Second XI…,” Jos grins fondly at the memory, “but Jimmy should tell you the story with the hair gel.”

“You did not just drop me into it.” Jimmy, recovering from a direct hit on his right arm – proving that Mo is really in fine form, rounds on Jos. And laughs as he sees Jos’ mischievous grin. “Lads, don’t let yourselves get fooled by this one here. He might not sound like it, but he’s a handful.”

“What are you trying to imply?” Jos retorts with a grin. “Nothing.” Jimmy puts on his best neutral expression. Failing to convince anyone.

 

After a while, things calm down again and the discussion returns to the events of the last four days. “I knew something was gonna happen after you passed 150, Belly.” Gary pats Ian’s shoulder. “Me too,” Stuart agrees, folding his sun hat and placing it on top of his whites. “And just how great was that first day? I mean … has anyone ever seen anything like it?” Ian asks. “Definitely not… what’s on your mind, Ali?” Stuart turns to look at his captain.

Who swallows ( _change the subject, lads, he’s been through the mincer emotionally_ , Joe pleads silently) before replying in an oddly thick voice: “I just remember something Rod Bransgrove told me after we lost to Lord’s. He said: “we’ve got it all sorted at Southampton for you.” I had no idea what he meant, but … I think they planned this. This reception and …,” Joe looks over and sees tears shining in Ali’s eyes. “I…”

“Come here, mate. You deserved that.” Jimmy wraps his arms around Ali. _Thanks,_ Joe tells him. _I was not sure what I was about to do. But he needed that. It’s … well of course you would have picked up on it too. That meant a lot to him…_

 

It is only once he is safely back in his room, arguing with himself about packing up now or having a well-deserved nap (which will of course end up with a frantic scramble in the morning and an absolute mess in his suitcase, just as it did the first thirteen times, not that Joe’s ever learned anything from it so far), that Joe’s mind turns to a little less pressing, but definitely more personal concern.

 _What am I going to do about Jos._ He stretches out on the soft mattress and looks up at the ceiling. The fan, providing sweet relief from the summer’s heat outdoors, makes odd shadows on the white background, catching Joe’s attention for a while.

 _No really. What am I going to do._ It has been almost two months since Jimmy’s text reached Joe in the middle of a supermarket trip with his parents, ahead of Billy’s birthday. To be fair, he has been mainly concerned with their performances and his own batting to spend much time on it. Has almost successfully convinced himself that there was no chance of anything developing between them, that Jos just (that’s unfair, as if friendship is anything less than a romantic relationship) saw him as a friend.

Facts are facts, though. And Jos has been single for two months. Then again, he had been with Craig for five years, so who knows if he is even ready to look for someone new. Takes time to get over long-term relationships. At least that’s what Joe heard from his own friends. Not that his limited experience is anything to go by. His break-up with Caroline was four years ago and since then, he has only had casual flings. Nothing to write home about. Or tell his parents.

 _I haven’t met anyone that makes me feel quite like Jos, though._ Joe’s heart beats faster, he can almost hear it. _It’s just … everything about him. His gorgeous eyes. That soft voice that I could listen to for hours. His endearing shyness around the senior players, except for Jimmy for some reason. The way he always seems to be genuinely interested in me and what I have to say, no matter how boring it is. And his smile. Lights up my entire day._

_Fuck’s sake. Maybe I should … I’ll never know unless I try, right? Or do I?_

_And what happens if he turns you down,_ the voice of reason replies in his mind (sounding vaguely like his granddad). _Are you prepared to risk your friendship over it? Craig’s got black hair, maybe he isn’t into blondes at all. And what happens then? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with you afterwards._

“Fuck.” Joe tells the fan on the ceiling. “How do people make decisions about this.”

Not for the first time, he wishes he had someone in the team he could talk to about it. Someone who would not judge him for his bisexuality, just be there to listen to his dilemma. Someone …

like Ali, in fact. And there is no denying the last three days have brought them closer together. Since that evening and their chat on Ali’s couch. And … but how do you go about this. How do you out yourself to someone you are just starting to get to know a little better?  Without giving off the feeling that you are actually trying to hit on him? “Which I am NOT, thank you very much.” Joe tells the ceiling.

_Wait a second. What on earth was that. I … god I really need to sleep, I’m making zero sense._

Setting his alarm for four-thirty and then five o’clock (that way he can at least pack a few things), Joe curls up into a ball and shuts his eyes. Sees Mo’s ball crashing into the off-stump before he falls asleep.

 

Having spent an agonising fifteen minutes in front of his cupboard, cursing himself for leaving his jeans jacket at home, Joe just about makes it downstairs in time for their meet-up. Immediately sees Jos as he hurries across the lobby, trying and failing to smooth his hair into something approaching an actual hairstyle and less of a “just fell out of bed” – vibe.

 _My word he’s gorgeous tonight._ Joe hopes he did not just draw a very audible breath as he catches sight of Jos. His light brown hair is combed back, a little more casual than Joe has seen it in recent weeks. He is wearing a simple white T-shirt and beige trousers, clinging to his legs in just the right places and …

“There you are, Rooty.” Chris smiles at him, saving Joe from further embarrassment. “Thought we could share cars to the port and back? I’ve got room for four of us and the rest can go with Ronald.”

“Sounds good ( _over here, Jos. Jesus fucking Christ, Joseph, behave)_.” Joe replies, matching Chris’ smile (which is something that does come naturally to anyone if they spend any sort of time in Woakesy’s company). “Let’s go, lads.” Ali says and leads the way out of the hotel.

 

As luck would have it, Joe finds himself squashed between Jos and Stuart for the entire short duration of their drive to the Ocean Village Marina. Which leaves him pleasantly warm and vaguely fuzzy as they climb out and Chris pays for his parking ticket. In the right state of mind not to do anything stupid. Hopefully.

“Any idea where we’re going?” Jimmy asks after they are all back together again. “I’m not after anything in particular. Just … a pint and a nice view.” Stuart says and speaks everyone’s mind.

“Let’s go see if that place back there checks out.” Ian says, pointing further down the road.

 

After a little negotiation, Ali secures a table big enough for everyone and hands Jimmy a couple of bills. “First round’s on me, lads.” he says, reclining in his chair. “We love you, Cooky!” Gary grins. “Least I could do.” “What’s everyone having?”  Jimmy asks. “The usual.” Stuart says. “Me too.” CJ adds. “Jos?” “Don’t say cider.” Jos tells Jimmy with a vaguely threatening look. Earning him a punch on his shoulder. “I’m rubbing off on you, mate, that’s brilliant.”

 

Joe’s initial fears about embarrassing himself in front of Jos are quickly forgotten as they share a bowl of crisps, toast each other’s achievements and Gary’s surprisingly accurate prediction of the Indian second innings result. “So how are we gonna play in Old Trafford then, eh Gaz?” Joe asks his old roommate. Who pretends to look into a crystal ball, making Mo laugh. “I’d say … us by an innings.” Gary replies in his most “otherworldly” voice.

“You heard the man,” Ian tells Jimmy and Stuart. “Your job, lads.”

“And yours.” Stuart pats Ian’s back.

“You okay, Cooky?” Chris hands the crisps over to Ali. “You’ve been a little quiet.” “Oh, don’t worry,” Ali replies smiling. “I’m just relaxing. It’s been a while since I felt like today and I’m …” “No, you’re not saying you’re enjoying it while it lasts, stop that.” Jimmy cuts Ali off. “How …?”  Ali looks at Jimmy, puzzled. “I always know. And that’s bollocks. It was your captaincy too, today. That’s  why we won, most of all.” An interesting pink flush colours Jimmy’s cheeks.

“Thanks mate,” Ali says warmly. “And what are you going to do over the next three days, lads? Except sleep, of course?” “I … well I’m meeting Firuza’s parents on Saturday.” Mo reveals. “Oh wow, it’s that serious already?” Chris asks surprised. “Must be one heck of a woman.” Sam joins in.

“She is, she’s everything I ever wanted in a girl.” Mo’s beaming smile tells his friends everything they wanted to ask. “That’s great, mate.” Chris clinks glasses with him.

“I’m off to the bog,” Joe says and gets up. Reminds himself not to run. _Don’t give them any ideas._

He shuts the  door behind him and lets himself flop onto the seat in the nearest stall. Takes a couple of deep breaths. _No. You’re not going to say anything. Just tell them the truth. That you told Billy you’d give him a few throwdowns and … and if they ask you about your girlfriend again, you know what to say, right? You’ve done this before. Don’t … just don’t look at Jos or you might ruin it._

_Okay. I’ve got this. And later tonight, when we’re back at the hotel, I could just go to his. And see what … NOTHING’s gonna happen, Joseph._

Joe lets out a long breath. “One thing after the other.” he tells himself and gets a “huh?” from the stall to his right. “Oh sorry, didn’t realise you had come in,” he replies to the unknown figure, flushes the toilet and goes out to wash his hands. _Nothing’s gonna happen._

 

As Joe comes back, he finds his teammates just the way he left them, laughing and chatting, while Stuart pays for their third and final round of drinks. “So … don’t take this the wrong way,” Chris asks with a friendly smile, turning to Jos. “I mean … it’s been almost two months. How are you holding up?”

Joe freezes. Does not want to know the answer which is hurtling towards him like a well-timed yorker. Can nearly hear the stumps clatter behind him and…

Jos smiles a little sheepishly. “Keeps getting better. I think … well, in fairness; it was over for a while before we actually broke up. I just did not want to see it.” he sighs. “Oh, we’ve all been there.” Ian says sympathetically. “And now? I mean, in case you want to get back out there, we’re happy to help.” Stuart laughs.

 _No need for that! I’m right here!_ the silly part of Joe’s subconscious practically yells.

“Thanks lads.” Jos takes a sip from his glass. “I do know one thing. I’m done with dating teammates.”

Joe’s ears ring so loudly he can not hear anything else around him. His legs start to shake and he – in desperate hope nobody sees it – grabs the back of the chair behind him with his right hand, gripping it like he needs to hold himself above the water on a particularly stormy sea.

Jos says something else. Joe does not hear a thing. His heart races. And there is a massive lump building up in his throat. _Do not cry. Not here. They will find out and you…_ but any further attempts to calm himself are drowned out by a panic-inducing realisation:

_I know. Now I know. There was never a chance for us to begin with._

_Fuck._ Joe swallows a sob. Which Chris, sitting next to him, thankfully mistakes for a yawn. “You tired, mate?” he says and squeezes Joe’s arm. Joe blinks rapidly. “Yeah… sort of.” he replies a little hoarsely. Ali looks at his watch. “Nearly a quarter to midnight. Let’s call it a night, lads.” he yawns and puts his glass down on the table.

 

Joe does not know how he makes it back to the hotel. Has no idea what they talk about while Chris takes their car through the thankfully deserted roads of Southampton. Has no time for the lights of the city (something he usually enjoys) or for the gentle breeze blowing in through the passenger side windows. Is counting the minutes until he can be alone. On his own. Without fearing anyone might pick up on his actual state.

To add to his devastation, his mind replays Jos’ sentence over and over again.

_I’m done with dating teammates. I’m done with dating teammates. I … fuck, Joe, think of something different, immediately, or you’re gonna turn into a blubbing mess right in front of everyone … oh, we’ve stopped._

“Here we go, lads,” Chris announces, turning the motor off. “That was a fun evening.”

“It really was. Was about time we did something like that again.” Stuart drags himself out of the car. “Can’t wait to hit the hay.” he yawns widely. “See you all at breakfast.”

“Night Stu.” Chris says and the rest of his passengers follow Stuart upstairs.

Almost in trance, Joe pats himself down. Is relieved to find his room key in his front pocket.   _Good. I don’t want to answer any questions. I’m …_

 _I’m done with dating teammates._ Joe’s eyes fill with tears and his vision becomes blurry. _Not here, fuck’s sake,_ he scolds himself as he feels the lump pressing down on his vocal cords.

“You okay, Rooty?” Jimmy asks. “I … yeah. Night.” Joe replies, not trusting himself to speak in full sentences. Does not wait for Jimmy’s reply but heads straight for the staircase.

Races the four flights of stairs up to his room as quickly as his tired legs allow him. Blindly scrambles along the corridor, tears already leaking out of his eyes, making it impossible to see anything on the floor, barely lit by an orange lamp that has seen better days.

Breathes a shuddering sigh of relief as he manages to unlock the door. Fumbles to get his sandals off, does not switch on the light, wobbles (that really is the correct word for it) to his bed and plants himself face first into the soft white pillow, smelling faintly of roses. The fabric softener his grandma uses on nearly everything.

_I’m done with dating teammates._

“Shit.” Joe says to the pitch-dark room. Breathes in … and gives up the fight.

 

Painful, burning, heaving sobs rack his body. Shaking, he clings to the pillow, feeling the tears streaming down his face, unsure if or when they will ever dry up again. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” is all he can repeat while everything, his anxiety, his stupid silly plans to make a move (if it even was one) washes away in a flood of relief. And sadness.

A grief he has never felt before. For something that never was. Never had a fucking chance.

Which makes him break down all over again. Makes him curl up, cling to the cool and moist cotton below him. A poor substitute for something he really wants to have … and never can.

His head feels light.  Burns. The way it always does when he has a good cry. And …

 

what is that weight on his right shoulder? A hand? A … Joe does not dare to move. Who is that?

A whisper, gentle, full of concern: “Rooty. Joe. Talk to me.”

 

 _Oh shit. Him. Of all people. What do I do now?_ Joe feels himself turn bright red again. The gentle pressure on his shoulder intensifies a bit as he is being turned around as slowly as possible.

Two dark brown eyes look down on him with unmistakeable worry. “Hey. It’s alright, you’re not alone.” Ali says softly and begins to stroke Joe’s right arm with one hand while his other hand rummages in his pyjama (pyjama?) pocket. Ali hands Joe a tissue. “Here, wipe your nose.  I … Joe, really, it’s alright.”

 _Nothing is. Nothing’s ever going to be alright again,_ Joe wants to yell but finds himself unable to speak. The painful, heaving sobs having made way for softer, silent tears, he keeps looking at Ali. Who seems to be insecure what to do, going by the way he keeps biting his lips. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Ali suggests quietly. Strokes Joe’s arm, sending shivers down his spine.

Joe shakes his head.

“Okay then.” An interesting tone. Almost … affectionate. “But just so you know, in case you do want to talk, you can come to me. Every time you want. And … I’m not gonna leave you alone if you’re this heartbroken.”

_How the fuck did he just figure that out. And … what’s he doing?_

Surprised, Joe watches as Ali takes his socks off and climbs into bed next to Joe. Pulls the blanket over him and holds out an arm. “You … okay with this?”

An entirely different shade of red must have taken over Joe’s entire face, from the way he can feel his cheeks radiate with heat.   _Do I … yes. Yes, I need that._

With just a little part of him wondering what on earth is going on, Joe pulls his T-Shirt and jeans off and shuffles closer. “Don’t worry.” Ali smiles at him.

Insecurely, Joe curls up in Ali’s arms and lets his head rest on Ali’s chest.

Ali holds him tight. “I’m here. As long as you need me.” he whispers.

 

_What. I have no idea what is happening to me right now. Also,  my head is killing me._

Confused, Joe closes his eyes. The exhaustion of the entire day finally catches up with him as he yawns as widely as he can.

And becomes aware of a new sound. Closer to him. Quite close, in fact. Sending shivers down his spine. _I’ve lost it, plain and simple. I’m … what is that._

“Think I can … I can hear your heart.” he says softly, wondering how strange his voice sounded.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. “Sleep. I’m looking after you.”

 

As Joe wakes up again, light-headed, with a painful hole somewhere deep in his chest, but strangely refreshed after what cannot have been more than six hours of sleep, the first thing he sees is the arm still around his waist. “What.” he says to himself, more loudly than he intended as Ali wakes up.

“Sorry,” Joe gives Ali a sheepish grin, strangely reluctant to move from his resting place.

“Don’t worry, I always get up at that hour.” Ali smiles down at Joe.

And Joe smiles at Ali. Can not help himself. For whatever reason.

It is completely silent. Nobody dares to move.

They just keep looking at each other.

_Did I ever see that he’s got freckles? Or something like freckles? And why…?_

“So?” Ali asks unusually hoarsely.

“What?” Joe whispers.

“I don’t … you feeling better?”

“A bit.”

Minutes pass again and a comfortable warmth settles on Joe’s belly. Very comfortable, in fact.

_I could … no._

“Let’s go for a run.” he suggests instead. Ali nods. “Good idea. Helps me to clear my head.” he says and gives Joe an affectionate squeeze. “Let me just fetch my running kit from my room.”

“Of course, see you in ten minutes.” Joe gets up, careful not to fall over his jeans on the floor and accompanies Ali to the door. “Thanks. You … simply thanks. For not leaving me alone.” he says, wondering why his voice is thick with emotion again.

“Don’t mention it.” Ali wraps his arms around Joe. Strokes his back. “See you in ten minutes.”

 

 _Something’s odd,_ Jos thinks while they gather for breakfast in the hotel restaurant, kitbags and suitcases already loaded into their respective cars. _Something’s odd and I can’t put my finger on it._

Usually, at least in the last couple of days, Joe can not stop himself at all during breakfast. Wide awake, chatting with anyone about anything, excited for the day ahead.         Trying to encourage everyone with his boundless optimism (something Jos has particularly liked about him for a while).

Today, however, he is almost entirely quiet. Silent.

And there is an odd look on his face whenever Cooky meets his eyes. _What’s he got to be sheepish about? Thought they were long past that. That’s … for that, why does Cooky keep looking over at Joe?_

Something strange settles on Jos’ stomach. He blinks and turns his head.

To see Jimmy shooting murder glances in Joe’s direction.

_And what is that about?_

Puzzled, Jos finishes his coffee, wondering why it tastes strangely sour all of a sudden.

_Something’s going on._

_Oh well, I will find out._


	10. Crystal clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it mean when someone keeps drifting across your thoughts for an entire day?  
> Jos celebrates his 24th birthday with a few of his closest friends ... and finds out that something has changed in his friendship with Joe.

Jos sneezes violently and is awake in a matter of seconds.

“What on earth was that.” he says loudly, wiping his nose.

“Meow?”

The sound confuses him for a while. Is that his phone (out of nostalgia, he has not changed his text message notification tone for a year, as a reminder of the little tricks Tregs and he used to play on each other all the time)? But why would someone (who is not Joe) send him a text this early in the morning?

“Meow?”

Yellow round cat eyes stare up at Jos from somewhere on his stomach. _Oh. That’s right._

“Morning, Larry!” Jos apologises, reaching out with his right hand to scratch the tabby furball behind the ears. A satisfied deep purr fills the room. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to shove your tail in my face each morning? I will feed you. Don’t worry.”

Larry looks at Jos as if he understands every word. And does not believe him at all.

“Ms Mahoney was right, you do know how to make someone feel guilty.” Jos chuckles and yawns. “Okay, you win. Let’s get you your …  whatever it actually is they put in those tins.” Stretching, careful not to throw the cat from the bed by accident, Jos sits up and looks at his clock on the nightstand. And sighs. “Six thirty. It’s my birthday, Larry? I was looking forward to sleeping in, the lads won’t be here until 1.”

“Meow?”

“Okay then. I’ll feed you. But you’re gonna have to keep yourself busy for a while, I definitely plan to go back to bed.” Wondering where he left his slippers, then deciding not to bother because it really is too early (how does Joe manage to go for a run every single day at this ungodly hour?), Jos pads into the kitchen, very closely followed by his temporary houseguest.

It is just beginning to get bright outside; a soft light illuminates the corridor. Late summer can be quite pretty up north. Joe was right about that. The perfect weather for a birthday barbecue (something Jos would never have considered before. But his first year in Manchester has changed him. For the better? Maybe.).

Larry rubs – or more accurately, bangs – his round head against Jos’ legs while Jos fills his water bowl and opens one of the many tins of cat food his neighbour left him with before she went on holiday three days ago. “I’ll be ready in a second, you greedy little bugger,” Jos smiles, setting the bowls down before Larry.

And as usual, it is as if Jos has stopped existing as Larry immediately buries his teeth in the orange odd smelling sludge that, to him, must be the most gourmet breakfast on earth.

“Enjoy your meal,” Jos shakes his head fondly and heads back to bed.

As much as he would have liked a cat of his own, international cricket just does not leave you with enough time to look after a pet. He is barely at home enough to look after himself, now that his career has finally taken off (or so it seems, all in all he had his Test debut, his actual Test debut, just a month ago).

So, Jos very readily accepted when his neighbour, a friendly widow, asked him if he could look after her “fur baby” for three weeks because she had finally booked the cruise down the river Nile that she had been dreaming off for years. The next best thing. A temporary cat.

And so far, Jos and Larry get along fine. Even though the cat will have to be locked up indoors while Jos has his birthday barbecue with the lads. The last thing he wants to do is fight eight kilos of rage and claws over the prize cutlets and steaks he bought at Waitrose on Friday.

“I’ll let him out later tonight, though.” Jos thinks while he pulls the blanket back over him. “Joe will love to play with Larry. Joe’s got a hand for cats.”

Jos yawns and – an image of his friend’s delighted smile when they came across a black kitten on their way to training at the Oval flashes across his mind as he switches the light off. _Three more hours. Then I really need to get started._

 _Hope Joe doesn’t eat all of the coconut cake._ Smiling to himself, Jos falls asleep.

 

As soon as his alarm rings (Jimmy did have a point that there was no reason to chose anything too elaborate, alarms are not meant to be pleasant after all), Jos is wide awake again. And genuinely excited about the day ahead.

24 years. That sounds like a pretty good age when he thinks about it. 24. He has been a legal adult for six years now. He owns a house, he has the job he has been dreaming of since he was twelve – half his life, Jos realises with a start – and Sophia, James and him also get on together extremely well since they all moved out of their parents’ place. He finally feels as if he is starting to figure out life.

_And I have friends. Not many, but that’s something you only care about as a kid._

_What’s more important – they are really good friends. All of them, in their own unique ways._

Jos has a quick shower, a look through his closet – a simple T-shirt and short jeans would probably do the trick, but he is hosting a party today after all. So, after careful consideration (and a laugh as he, for an inexplicable reason, hears Jimmy grumbling at him), Jos picks out a light blue short-sleeved shirt and black shorts. Fumbles with the buttons – there is a reason he only owns a handful of button-down shirts – and gives himself a once-over in the mirror of his bathroom medicine cabinet.

_Perfect. Now for a quick breakfast._

Unplugging his phone from the charger on the other nightstand, Jos goes to the kitchen, not without checking on Larry’s whereabouts (he does have a habit of sneaking up on you when you have bacon in your hands). To his relief, his guest is soundly asleep in front of the glass doors leading out to the garden, evidently enjoying the warm morning sun.

While he scrambles eggs, tries to remember the combination of spices Cooky recommended in London – was it a dash of paprika or chili powder – and cuts up a slice of bacon, his phone starts to meow incessantly as the first birthday messages arrive. Sophia, her husband and little Ellie (how is it that his niece is already turning four years old in October) send him a selfie from Vivary Park, Ellie looking very chuffed as she tries out her brand-new bike. James’ text makes him laugh out loud, as usual. His brother must have a book of these birthday-related jokes somewhere.

 Jos’ parents – quite impressive, considering they must have come home at an ungodly hour last night, their family birthday party did last longer than Jos had planned – ring him just as he arranges eggs and bacon on a plate. Tell him how much they enjoyed spending the entire weekend with him and how lovely they found his house and garden (which, unfortunately, serves to remind Jos that it was really only on Saturday that his mum was finally able to see the finished article – they do live so far apart, these days). As usual, speaking to them brings a brief pang of homesickness for Jos. Something he has been getting better at living with, no small thanks to Jimmy.

“No, my friends will be here at 1. Tell Uncle Bernard he should call between 11 and 12 if he wants to speak to me. After 12 I’ll need to fire the barbecue up.” Jos drinks a mouthful of coffee. “What’s that, mum? No, I haven’t tried it yet. I’ll use it this afternoon, though. Yes, I’ll send you photos. Dad?”

 “Say hi to Joe from us,” Jos’ dad interrupts his mum’s detailed explanation of the grinder in his new automatic coffee machine. A comment that confuses Jos for an instant. “Why … I mean, of course I will, I’ll see him in three hours. But dad, is there any reason for it?” he asks, genuinely interested.

“Oh nothing,” and Jos hears his father stifling a chuckle. “He’s a lovely lad, is all.”

 _Yes, he is._ “He’ll love to hear that. Alright, got to go. I love you!” “We love you too!”

Jos finishes his scrambled eggs in no hurry at all. Laughs as he reads one text message after another – coming from his old mates in Taunton, but (and that’s something he particularly likes) even more from his new county teammates. _I really need to stop worrying. I’ve settled in here nicely._

Happy, he carries the plate and cup back to the kitchen and puts them into the dishwasher. The weather holds up to his prediction, the sky is bright blue and there are only a few scattered clouds. _Maybe I’ll need to get at least one of the umbrellas out as well. I know how “delicate” Jimmy gets when it comes to sunburns._

 

While he fills coffee beans – a present from his neighbour across the road – into the grinder of the shiny new chrome coffee machine, reads through the manual to make sure he does not completely embarrass himself in the afternoon – his phone rings again. Marcus. On the road already, as usual. And asking, bless him, if Jos had room for apples in his storage cupboard. “Because it wouldn’t be your birthday without toffee apples, right, Joshua?”

 _Ouch._ Jos feels himself well up. _That’s seven years. Seven years he’s kept that tradition of ours going. And now he’s even bringing them up north with him. Oh Marcus._ “What else?” Jos replies laughing. And knows Marcus has heard the emotion in his voice.

Larry jumps up on the counter, demanding head scratches in that persistent (some would say entitled) way of his. Jos quickly says goodbye to Marcus and pets the cat for a while, hopes Larry does not mind getting his fur wet – _no point in being too proud to have a little cry when you’re on your own._

“You’re gonna love Marcus,” he tells Larry when he calms down again. Larry tilts his head, sniffs the air, and jumps down from the counter. Evidently on the hunt for something, so Jos opens the door and lets him out into the garden. “Just don’t bring any dead mice in here, okay, lad?”

 

Steaks, cutlets and sausages marinating in the fridge, Jos turns his attention to the Greek yoghurt sauce his dad gave him the recipe for on Saturday. Cuts up cucumbers, switches his iPod an, puts it on shuffle – and is pleasantly surprised at the first song he hears through the loudspeakers: “The Cave” by Mumford and Sons. One of the many recommendations from Joe that he got all summer.

_Joe has a brilliant taste in music. And a knack for figuring out what I’d enjoy as well._

_I wonder what CD I’m gonna get from him. That’s sort of his thing now. Or … our thing?_

Absent-mindedly, he stirs garlic and cucumber through the yoghurt and seasons it with salt. “Okay, that goes into the fridge as well … and I’d better get started on the coconut cake now or … okay then.” Smiling, Jos picks the phone up. “Hello Uncle Bernard!”

 

Soon, the entire kitchen is filled with a pleasant mixture of smells – roasting coconuts, coffee and a faint garlicky odour from the yoghurt sauce. Making Jos’ mouth water as he takes the cake tin out of the oven and has a look at his creation. “Looks exactly like it should,” he tells himself and – something else he only does when he is on his own – pats himself on the back. “Lads are gonna love it.”

Twelve p.m sharp. Time to turn the steaks around again and fire up the barbecue. At least his mum insisted on helping him set the table yesterday, that does save him some time now.

Larry is sleeping under the small apple tree at the far end of the garden and hardly pays attention to him.

As soon as the coals begin to glow, Jos carries salads, sauces and bread to the table, followed by the meat, fish, potatoes and zucchini (Tregs will love them). Admires the sight of the two buffet tables heaving with colourful plates and food. _I am actually good at this._

Larry hears his voice and trots across the lawn. Meowing excitedly as he smells pork and chicken. “Oi, don’t even think about it,” Jos tells the cat as he picks Larry up and carries him indoors. “Sorry lad, but that’s human food.” He puts a protesting Larry into the guest bedroom where he already wisely left the litterbox, Larry’s bowls and a cat bed. “It’s for your own good.”

Another look at his watch – 12:40. Enough time for a quick rest on the couch. After he has checked the bowls of crisps on the kitchen counter.

 

Just as well, because the moment he sits down, he has a text from Joe.

**must of taken wrong turn, might b a tad late.**

**where are u?,** Jos types back with a laugh. Joe’s sense of orientation has actually gotten worse this year.

**petrol station near man city stadium.**

**how on earth did u … never mind. go back to the main road and the satnav should do the rest.**

**thx, see u soon :)**

Jos rolls his eyes fondly. Good thing Joe has always been surrounded by people who knew where they were going. Elegant batsman he may be (Jos really envies his silky strokeplay when Joe has played himself in), but he is more than mildly chaotic in a lot of other aspects.

 _But that’s what I like about you,_ Jos thinks and stretches his legs out on the couch. Tries to remember if he sent everyone the correct directions, starts (oh for Christ’s sake, adults should not get excited about birthday presents) to get curious what he is going to get from the lads.

Another text, from Alastair this time.

**Wishing you a very happy birthday and lots of fun at your party :). Sorry I won’t be able to make it, I’m still not 100% fit and I don’t want the lads to catch the same bug I had.**

**Thanks, skip :) And don’t worry, hope you’re back on your feet soon!**

**See you on Friday (fingers crossed) in Nottingham! Looking forward to playing golf with you.**

Smiling (but slightly concerned), Jos puts the phone down again. Cooky went through a lot this summer, what with Matt’s retirement and the disciplinary incident with Jimmy and Ravindra Jadeja, not to mention the constant increased scrutiny and pressure from the media. So it really did not surprise anyone that their captain had come down with a nasty stomach bug the day after their series victory at the Oval.

_Stress does get to you after a while. Hope he’s got someone to look after him._

Jos has no idea if Cooky has a partner. He sure hopes though, because it was obvious that he needed someone to talk to … or is that not Jimmy’s job, actually? (That is, if Jos’ observation of Jimmy’s behaviour around Cooky has been correct. Maybe he is reading too much into it).

 

A car comes down the road. A very familiar dark red Peugeot. Jos looks at his watch. 12:55. Trust Marcus to be early. As if he still has a point to prove after seven years. _Okay then,_ Jos thinks and gets up. Turns his iPod on again, switches it to “birthday party music” (a playlist that almost took him three days to complete because Joe kept interrupting him with suggestions and “stuff that absolutely has to be on there if you want me to come to your party”).

To the familiar tunes of the Kaiser Chiefs, Jos leaves the living room and goes to open his front door.

Marcus and Tregs, having parked the car across the road, greet him with wide smiles as they come up the footpath. “Happy birthday, Joshua,” Marcus says affectionately, wrapping Jos up in a hug. “Can’t believe you’re already 24 years old!” “Me neither,” Jos admits, closing his eyes for an instant, enjoying the familiar comfort only a Marcus hug can give him.

“And you haven’t changed a bit since you turned 23!” Now it is Tregs’ turn to hug Jos (the butterflies that used to give Jos when he was a bit younger…). A sharp object pokes Jos’ back. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Tregs laughs and takes a step back. “That’s from all the lads in Taunton,” he explains.

Jos is briefly lost for words as he sees a big wooden crate in his best friend’s hands. Filled to the brim with shiny red apples, cheese (from the deli he always used to go to after a home game), fresh wholemeal bread, two cakes that must have come from Dan’s bakery, a few bottles of cider and something that looks like a sausage. “Thought you needed a few home comforts. It’s a bit of a culinary wilderness up here after all” Tregs says as he notices Jos’ expression.

Jos feels himself well up again. “Thanks lads,” he says softly. “Make yourselves comfortable, there’s crisps and crackers in the kitchen. I’ll be with you in a bit.” “Where do you want us to put that?” Marcus asks, squeezing his shoulder and pointing at the crate. “Pantry’s the second door on the right. Just leave it there.”

 

Blinking the tears away (such a great idea), Jos leans against his wall as he watches another car come closer. Stretches an arm out, tries to show the driver that there is enough space next to Marcus’ car. And laughs as three figures get out. In comically large sunglasses and hats.

Stuart, Jimmy and Glen. “Before you say anything, that was Stu’s idea!” Jimmy shouts across the road. “Knew it was.” Jos laughs. “Looks silly on you, though.” “Should have thought before you spoke,” Stuart grins and – Jos has not heard a better expression for it – “double pat-releases” Jos. “Happy birthday, mate, we’ve got something for you.” Curiously, Jos unwraps the soft blue parcel Stuart hands him – and laughs as he finds an identical white hat.

“Now you’re officially an England Test player, we thought you needed one of these as well.” Jimmy grins and gives Jos an one-armed hug (which is a lot, coming from Jimmy, but then again they have become quite comfortable with each other in recent months). “Looking not a day over 22.”

“Stop fishing for compliments, grandpa.” Jos affectionately punches Jimmy in the side and puts the hat on. “How do I look?”

“Professional,” Glen laughs while Jimmy and Stuart take their shoes off and go to the kitchen. “Happy birthday and thanks for the invitation. Pretty garden you’ve got there.” “Thanks skip.” Jos shakes Glen’s hand. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything as creative as Jimmy, but I hope you’ll like it,” Glen says and gives Jos his present.  “Botham’s Ashes?” Jos reads on the DVD he takes out of the gift bag. “That’s a brilliant idea, thanks! We’ll definitely watch that tonight.”

Watching Glen follow Jimmy and Stuart indoors, Jos checks his guest list again. _Everyone’s here. Or nearly everyone except for Matt (Stu’s gonna be so happy, he has no idea Matt’s coming too), Woakesy and Joe. Didn’t Chris say they were coming by train?_

Just as he finishes that thought, he sees two figures in shorts and sandals come down the road. Immediately recognises Matt’s bald head and Chris’ immaculately coiffed brown hair. Smiles as he sees Matt is walking on his own, without crutches. A welcome sight.

“Over here, Woakesy!” Jos shouts and waves.

“Oh, that’s your house?” Chris asks with a friendly smile. “I already like it. Do you actually have lemons on this tree?” “One, to be fair,” Jos clarifies and greets Matt and Chris with a hug. “So you managed to find each other alright?” he asks Matt. “Yes, no problem. Woakesy was half an hour early.”

“And …” Jos does not finish the sentence. “Heaps better.” Matt says smiling. “Haven’t been in pain for two weeks now… have you told Stu that I’m coming?” “Not a word.” “Brilliant.” Matt grins. “Anyway, that’s from Woakesy and me.” He gives Jos a yellow bag.

“Oh, how did you know those are my favourite chocolates?” Jos laughs. “I’m good at these things.” Chris starts matter-of-factly. “And what’s that card for?” “Read it.” Matt says warmly.

“To the current bearer of the gloves. I wish you just as much fun as I had with the Test lads. This is an offer for free wicketkeeping advice, whenever you feel you need it. All the best, make me proud! :)”

Touched, Jos embraces Matt. “That’s lovely, Matty, thanks.” “Least I can do.” Matt replies.

“Is everyone here yet?” Chris asks, admiring the flowers in Jos’ front garden. “Of course not. Guess who got lost once again.” Jos smirks. “Oh he’s impossible.” Chris can not expand on that, because the very next moment, a beaming Stuart comes running down the corridor and tackles Matt with a flying hug. “I don’t believe it! You’re here!” “Missed you too,” Matt pats Stuart’s back.

“Right lads, grab a seat in the garden, Joe should be here any minute and we can get the barbecue going.” Jos says and feels a bit more professional than usual. _Perhaps I’m getting the hang of this._

_Where is he, really,_ Jos wonders, while Matt, Chris and Stu, chatting animatedly, make their way into the house. _Should I … oh, that’s him now,_ he thinks as he sees a silver car – a Hyundai? Jos has never paid this much attention – park next to Jimmy’s.

An unusual intensely happy feeling settles on Jos while he watches the very familiar lanky blonde figure climb out of his car and carry something long and brown across the road. _What’s that about. I only saw him last week. Why …_

“Hey,” Joe says as he closes the gate behind him. In a softer voice than usual. With an interesting shade of pink on his cheeks. “Hey.” Jos echoes and knows he is matching Joe’s smile. “Glad you did find your way after all.” “Likewise. Wouldn’t have wanted to miss this party for the world!” Joe replies, sounding interestingly bashful as Jos wraps his arms around him. Feels strangely reluctant to let go.

“And … happy birthday, you old bugger.” Joe says with a cheeky smile after they have broken their hug again. “Do I have to remind you it’s only three months and 12 days until yours?” Jos affectionately punches Joe.

“That’s exactly what I expect from you. And that’s why … you’re getting some proper flowers for your 26th … no, sorry, it’s 24th, isn’t it?” Joe grins and hands Jos the first of the two long brown parcels. Jos opens it and can not believe his eyes. “White roses? In Manchester?” he giggles.

“What else. Need to make sure those Lancastrians don’t corrupt you fully.” “You do realise Jimmy and Glen are here as well?” “So? Doesn’t hurt them to remember who won the Roses match this year.” Joe points out with a mischievous laugh. “And I trust you to protect me from them. Speaking of, heard anything from Cooky?” “He’s not fit enough, he says. But he’ll be with us in Notts on Friday.”

Something like concern flashes across Joe’s face. Which he quickly hides by giving Jos the second parcel. “And that’s something you can do with on Friday.” “Is that what I think it its?” Jos laughs.

“Depends on what you think.” Joe smiles as Jos unwraps three shiny new golf clubs. “Had Stu help me pick them out. Thought you could do with a set now you’re coming with us.”

“Thanks, Joe. Hungry?” “You bet.” Joe grins. “Follow me, think it’s about time we get the first steaks up on the barbecue.”

 

Laughter and chat greet Joe and Jos as they come into the living room. “So you finally made it!” Chris grins and hugs Joe. “Yeah, I’ll take the train next time, though.” Joe admits and helps himself to a handful of crisps. “And they actually let you across the Pennines?” Jimmy smirks.

“Great to see you too, Jim.” Joe winks at Jimmy. Who wants to reply something but is stopped by the sight of a bunch of white roses in Jos’ hands. “You cheeky little shit,” Jimmy rounds on Joe with a mischievous grin, pretending to throw a pillow in his direction. “Did you see that, Chappy! The nerve of him!”

“That’s quite something!” Glen laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something for him. But after lunch, okay?” he adds in Jimmy’s direction while Jos puts the roses into a crystal vase, out of the sight of his two incensed patriotic county teammates. “Okay, lads, what do you want first?” he asks and fills the vase up with water from the tap.

“Steak for me, please,” Matt says. “I’ll have a ….” “Of course, there’s more than enough bangers for you, Banger,” Jos affectionately grins at Marcus. “Grab a seat, I’ll take care of everything.” “Sure you don’t need a hand? Is there anything we can do?” Chris asks.

“I … you could help me carry the drinks out. Bottom two shelves in the fridge.” “Fine.”

 

The barbecue fizzles pleasantly and the last remaining clouds have disappeared as Jos and his friends settle down in the garden, toast each other and – embarrassingly – even launch into a short, strangely harmonious singing of “Happy birthday” (Jos has no idea who the really rather good voice he heard belonged to, but it sent shivers down his spine).

Steaks, roasted potatoes, more zucchinis than Jos expected (making him glad he bought a second kilo on Friday), salads and sauces make their way across the garden table, glasses are re-filled and emptied, Jos receives a few compliments on the marinade and makes a mental note to pass them on to Cooky.

 

It is just the party Jos hoped it would be. Jimmy and Marcus reminisce about their days in the England side, with Jimmy, Jos is glad to see, delicately avoiding any mention of 2006 and Marcus’ breakdown. Stu, Matty and Tregs chat about football, pumpkins and weight training with equal fervour. Chris and Glen share a few jokes, finding out they have more in common than they thought.

And Joe – as usual – gets stuck right in the middle of things, bantering with Jimmy and Stuart, unable to resist rubbing everyone’s noses into the County Championship results. Laughs more than Jos had ever thought possible and – every so often – smiles in Jos’ direction, leaving Jos with that new intensely happy feeling somewhere in his belly.

“You done, lads?” he asks two hours later as he notices the bowls and plates have stopped somewhere down the table. “Oh yes. I am stuffed.”  Stuart sighs with a pleased smirk. “Let’s play something,” Chris suggests. “Footie?” “That’s unfair,” Marcus points out, finishing the rest of his plate. “Tregs here is an actual goalkeeper.” “So? I can adapt!” Tregs shrugs and grins. “What do you say, Jos?”

“Alright. If you could just help me bring the dishes back to the kitchen?”

“Of course.” They get up and follow Jos indoors, carrying plates and cutlery. “Where do you want them?” Matt asks. “Just pile them up here. And … am I correct in assuming Glen and Jimmy want me in their team?” Jos grins, turning to his captain. “Of course.” Glen says. “We need to teach a cheeky little shit a bit of a lesson.”

Joe pouts. “Then I’ll get to play with Peter. Otherwise it’s completely unfair.” “You started it,” Jimmy reminds him. “Shouldn’t have brought these abysmal flowers in here.” “Sorry, forgot how delicate your Lanky senses are.” Joe grins and rubs his hands. “Settle down, lads,” Chris laughs. “I’ll be referee, ok?”

 

An intensely fought football match, with Jimmy and Joe erring on the side of “not enough to warrant a yellow card” but very keen on tackling each other, ends 2-2 after Tregs makes a one-handed save to deny Jos in the last minute (that earns him an impressed wolf-whistle from Matt). Satisfied, they exchange high-fives and Chris wipes the sweat from his brow. “That was fun. And now?” “How about dessert?” Jos suggests, helping Joe to his feet. “You just read my mind.” Joe giggles. “What do you have for us?” he asks delightedly. “Coconut cake and …” “Something Joshua here has been insisting on since his time in the Second XI,” Marcus explains with a fond smile. “Toffee apples.”

“Actual toffee apples?” It is all Joe can do to stop himself from bouncing up and down. “I haven’t had one in ages.” “Want to give me a hand in preparing them, then?” Marcus chuckles. “Of course!” Joe shouts, prompting a fond eye-roll from Jimmy. “He’s such a puppy, sometimes.” he says turning to Jos.

“Okay, Marcus, you have the kitchen.” Jos takes his shoes off and lets himself flop onto the grass. “Where were we before?”

 

Cake and apples – admired by Jimmy most of all because “that’s so professional, Tresco” – quickly make the rounds, washed down with a couple of cups of coffee. “Anyone up for a few rounds of UNO?” Stuart asks, rubbing his belly. “I brought my deck, just in case.” “Great idea, I still need a re-match.” Matt squeezes Stuart’s shoulder and they both laugh. “Mind letting us know what’s so funny?” Glen asks. “A long story.” Matt wipes a tear from his eyes. “We’ve got time.”

 

They stay outdoors until the sun begins to disappear behind the trees. “Really cute little spot you’ve got there, Jos,” Chris says, collecting the plates from everyone. “Thanks. I wish I had more time to do something with the garden, though.” “And don’t we all know that feeling.” Marcus voices everyone’s thoughts.

A furious “meow” makes Jos’ guests startle as Jos closes the terrace door behind Matt. “Since when do you have a pet?” Matt asks. “Oh, that’s right, I completely forgot about him,” Jos laughs. “Not mine, he’s my neighbour’s, I’m just looking after him. Be back in a second.” And he hurries to the guest bedroom to let a very condescending-looking Larry out into the corridor, his bowls completely empty. “Just had to lock him away or he would have stolen all our food.” Jos explains while Larry struts into the living room, earning a lot of “oh” and “that’s a pretty boy!”

To Jos’ mild surprise, Larry flops himself in Joe’s lap and looks up at him with his big yellow eyes. “Wow, that’s something. He’s not that good with complete strangers,” Jos smiles and hands Joe a bag full of treats. “I’m flattered.” Joe smiles and pets Larry. Who starts to purr like a lawnmower.

“What do you want to drink now?” Jos asks, tearing his gaze away from the really cute (cute?) sight of Joe with a completely satisfied Larry on his lap. “Beer’s fine.” Matt says. “And cider.” Jimmy can not resist but add. “Coming right up. And now – anyone want to watch Botham’s Ashes?”

“Always!” Stuart says enthusiastically. “Inspiration if ever I saw anyone.”

 

The hours pass quickly. Matt and Chris call a taxi back to the train station, taking two toffee apples with them as “provisions” for the journey back home. Tregs and Marcus leave soon after them, promising Jos they will let him know about Hildy’s birthday party as soon as possible.

Genuine compliment after genuine compliment makes its way to Jos as his guests say their farewells with affectionate hugs and sincere wishes of “let’s do this again next year, that was a lot of fun.”

 

“I’m really rather good at this,” he says quietly to himself as he closes the door behind Stuart.

A chuckle from the living room. Where Joe has not moved an inch, Larry soundly asleep on his knees. “And I thought Ali was the only one to talk to himself.” Joe smiles as Jos settles next to him and helps himself to a handful of popcorn. Jos blushes. “I …” “Weren’t too sure how the day was going, eh? Been there.” Joe says sincerely and inches a little bit closer. “You’re not gonna throw me out, are you?” “Not now, anyway. Let’s watch Doctor Who.” Jos takes a sip from his glass.

“I’m not fully caught up yet!” Joe points out while Jos goes to the Netflix menu on his TV. “So? What was the last episode you saw?” “The one with Clara inside the Dalek.” “Okay then, let’s watch the next one.” Jos selects the episode from the menu and dims the light a bit.

They watch in complete silence save for Larry’s little snores.

Enough excuses for Jos to sneak a furtive glance in Joe’s direction. And almost catch himself off-guard. _I have no idea what he’s done today, but he looks fantastic. That peach fuzz suits him a lot._

The credits roll and Joe yawns. “Oh, that was fun.” he says, smiling at Jos. “I guess I’d better be off now, I do have training on Wednesday, and I can’t risk falling asleep at the nets.”

 _You could … no, Joseph._ “Let me get your pillow off you first,” Jos gets up and slowly lifts a grumbling Larry from Joe’s knees. Who gives a little indignant huff and trots to his bowl.

“He’s a cutie,” Joe says, looking after the cat. “He is.” Jos agrees, following Joe down the corridor, handing him his jeans jacket. “You … that jacket suits you.” he hears himself say as Joe pulls it on over his T-shirt. “Thanks, that’s the first time I heard that.” Joe smiles shyly and hugs Jos. “Thanks for today.”

“No thank you. Even for the white roses.” Jos says, a hand still on Joe’s shoulder. “Don’t let Glen hear you say that.” Joe giggles and squeezes Jos’ hand. “See you on Friday.” “Can’t wait!”

“Me too.” Joe gives Jos a cheerful wave and saunters down the footpath.

 

Jos remains on his doorstep, following Joe’s car with his eyes until it finally disappears around a corner.

“Meow?”

“Yes, Larry, the house belongs to you again.” Jos bends down and scratches Larry’s head. “Let me just...,” he yawns widely, “put everything in the dishwasher before I head to bed.”

He closes the door and goes back to the kitchen. Admires the impressive pile of plates ahead of him. “They’ve really eaten up everything,” he says to Larry who jumps on the kitchen counter. “Let’s give them a quick rinse before we turn the dishwasher on.”

With a mash-up of songs in his head, Jos cleans up as good as he can, puts a cleaning tab in the dishwasher and presses the “clean pots” button. A soft whirr and the machine springs to life.

“I’m sure glad they invented you,” Jos says as he leaves the kitchen, the vase with the white roses in his right hand.  Almost hears Joe laugh at the back of his mind.

Followed by a sigh the moment he spots the couch table. Wet circles and popcorn remains all across the black glass plate. As usual. _That’s gonna take me some extra cleaning tomorrow, typical, lads. And …_ A single coaster catches his eye. _Wasn’t that where Joe was sitting? I … how come I didn’t notice it before?_ Jos smiles to himself. _That’s extra considerate of him. Just as I expected._

 _When did we say we would meet on Friday?_ Jos takes his phone out of his back pocket and stops because a new idea hits him. _I should send him a text. Wish him good night or something._

_What’s up with me now? He’s still got an hour of driving ahead of him, he won’t even read it right now._

_But … I miss him._

Jos looks at his phone. A selfie he took with Cooky, Joe and Stu during the celebrations at the Oval flashes up at him from the screen. _I … I miss him and it’s barely half an hour since he left._

Something round bangs against his right calf. “Yow?” - “Oh Joe, stop it. You’ve already had dinner.”

Jos startles. “Joe? How come I … that’s not your name. Sorry, Larry.”

 

Moonlight streams in through the windows behind him. A silver beam falls on the crystal vase Jos still holds in his right hand. Drawing odd shadows on the walls. Letting the white flowers sparkle.

Until now, Jos would have dismissed it as a myth.

But as he looks at the flowers in his hand, everything begins to make sense at the same time. A moment of absolute clarity. Crystal clarity, even. His heart pounds and he feels his cheeks begin to glow.

“Oh.” he says quietly.

_I have fallen in love with Joe._

Jos stays where he is, letting the thought settle on his mind.

  _I don’t have a crush. I’m really, genuinely, honestly, overwhelmingly, in love._

_How come I never saw it until today._

Ignoring the voice at the back of his mind, fervently telling him that he has no idea if Joe reciprocates his feelings and that he should not let himself get carried away, Jos sets the vase down on the table.

Makes his way to his bedroom in a daze. Puts on clean pyjamas, brushes his teeth and curls up in bed.

Butterflies dance across his belly.

The last thing Jos sees before he falls asleep on his 24th birthday is a pair of light blue eyes.

Sparkling with mirth.

The prettiest eyes Jos has ever seen.


	11. Who cares if you can dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 2014, Leeds.  
> Joe invites Ben, Mark, Ian, an inexplicably heartbroken Stuart, and Jos to celebrate his 24th birthday and "thank the gods this year is over".  
> Turns out parties are a challenge when you've recently found out you have a ... thing for your host.

Frustrated, Jos paces up and down his living room. Only two more hours, then he really needs to leave his house if he wants to make it in time. Two hours, he has had the invitation for four days and he still has not made up his mind.

_Fuck’s sake, it wasn’t even this bad when I was crushing on Tregs._

 

Joe’s text reached Jos just before 11:30 at night on Boxing Day, the moment after he arrived back home from a rather odd afternoon and evening at Jimmy’s place.

 

A month ago, during one of the better days in Sri Lanka (and they were few and far between), Jimmy suddenly announced he was planning to spend Boxing Day at home, watching all the Premier League games, and anyone who was going to be in Manchester for the festive period and was “in need of an excuse to leave the house” would be very welcome to join him.

After a brief look at his planner, Jos accepted. Even began to look forward to it during the disastrous last days of the tour. It would just be a relaxing afternoon at Jimmy’s, right? A bit of shit-talking (about anyone that did not play the way they were supposed to according to Jimmy), a bit (or rather a lot, depending on Stuart coming too) of Jimmy’s excellent spaghetti carbonara and just the perfect occasion to wind down after an eventful year.

 

To Jos’ surprise, however, only one car was parked across the road when he made his way to Jimmy’s house just after lunch on Boxing Day, two bags of popcorn and a box full of his mum’s Christmas cookies in hand. And it neither belonged to Stuart, nor Cooky.

 In fact, only Swanny and Chris greeted him when he rang the doorbell. Swanny stopped Jos in the corridor. “Nice of you to come, mate.” he said and put a hand on Jos’ shoulder. “Just a warning – grumpy cat is in a funny mood today. Seems like he’s sad about something but you know what he’s like, you’d be lucky to get him to acknowledge that.” “And don’t mention Stu if you don’t want to get an earful.” Chris joined in. “What’s up with them? An argument or something?” Jos whispered but was stopped by an audible annoyed sigh. “Lads, what the bloody hell are you doing? Who’s there?”

 

The rest of the day ended up being quite relaxing, nevertheless. Swanny (as Jos expected) kept their spirits up by telling them some funny stories about Michael Vaughan and what his kids had been up to recently. Jimmy’s spaghetti were as good as Jos remembered. And Chris was his usual likeable self, chatting away about the trip he had been planning for a while and paying everyone sincere compliments.

Through it all, Jos could not help but wonder what happened to Jimmy. He was – and would never be – not the person to take centre stage, but on that afternoon, he seemed unusually quiet even by his standards. Every so often, Jos would see an expression flash across his face that looked like he was … heartbroken? Heartbroken and arguing with himself whether to tell them about it?

Jos’ impression was all but confirmed when Chris, in between a plate of chocolate chip cookies and an in-depth discussion of the football, innocently asked Jimmy if he “heard anything from Cooky?”. For a split second, Jos saw genuine sadness in Jimmy’s eyes. Then, his face settled into his normal scowl and the moment was lost.

 _What’s really going on between you and him,_ Jos wondered. Still wondered as Jimmy bid them farewell, looking strangely exhausted and pale. _I wish you’d talk to me. I’ve never seen you like this._

Just as he closed his door behind him, his phone meowed, telling him he had received a text.

**Birthday party, also “thank god this year is over” (if that’s the motto you want). Thursday 4 pm at my place, bring cookies. see you there. Joe.**

Jos felt a wide grin spread across his face. Followed by his reasonable half telling him to calm down, that Joe quite probably sent the same text to all of his friends and that nothing during the weeks in Sri Lanka gave Jos even the slightest hint that Joe was interested in him “like that”.

Nevertheless, he texted **of course I’m coming :)** to Joe. A series of smileys followed less than ten seconds later. Which was enough to set off a new whirlwind of butterflies in Jos.

That stayed with him until he fell asleep.

 

Four days, an extended shopping afternoon in town and an emergency visit to the barber’s later, the day of the party has come, brought a fresh blast of snow to the north of England. Unable to sleep any longer, Jos got out of bed at seven am and spent quite a while in front of his wardrobe, looking for the perfect outfit. _It’s like back in the old days in the Seconds. Where I still thought I could impress Tregs …_

Frustrated at his inability to choose, Jos went with something comfortable in the end. A black hooded sweater that he had taken on every single of his international tours and a pair of jeans James had given him for Christmas. Wondered if Joe would notice his new haircut. And rolled his eyes about himself.

An espresso and the rest of his mum’s fruit cake for breakfast, a box of sushi for a quick lunch.

Somehow, Jos had managed to put off the one remaining question he needed to solve before the party until the last possible hour. As he always does when he is uncertain about one of his ideas.

_If I leave within the next fifteen minutes, I can still go to the flower shop on Broad Street. Get a bunch of roses, have them wrapped up and be back in time._

Jos catches sight of his reflection in the switched-off TV screen on the wall. “No, absolutely not.” he says vigorously. “Do you hear me, Joseph? You are NOT bringing red roses to Joe’s birthday party, understood? Have you got any idea what message you’re sending if you do that?”

_But he deserves some kind of payback for his present in September. And besides, as my dad always said, it’s not a birthday party until you bring flowers._

_Something entirely different. Do I have enough money in my wallet if we order pizza?_

Jos reaches for his wallet, balancing on the counter as it always does. Zips it open, counts the notes and coins. _That should do it._ He is halfway to closing the zipper again when his sight falls upon the good luck-charm that has been in his wallet for a while now.

For a moment, Jos looks at it and smiles. And just like that, an idea presents itself.

 _Off to the flower shop with me._ He stops just short of rubbing his hands excitedly. Like … _fuck’s sake, Jos, stop it, you’d make even Jimmy suspicious._

 

It is only when he reaches the outskirts of Leeds, two hours and an uncomplicated drive through snowy, but thankfully half-empty roads later, that Jos realises he has, in fact, never been to Joe’s new house. Is not sure if he has even seen a picture of it so far.

 _We hardly ever talk about these things._ A thought that fills him with a bit of regret.

Which only lasts for about five minutes. Then, a silver car passes Jos and the driver gives him a wave. Bringing another smile to Jos’ face. _Ben. That’s bound to be a fun party then._ Ben and Jos had lost sight of each other since the U18s and only rekindled their friendship at the beginning of the India series. Proving, once and for all, that there are people you do not have to worry about if they disappear from your life for a while– because they had picked up where they left off.

 _And Ben seems to know where he’s going,_ Jos realises and follows his lead.

 

They park under a snow-covered oak at the end of a cul-de-sac. Ben’s appearance – flaming ginger hair buried behind a silly woollen hat, hands stuffed into the side pockets of a yellow winter jacket – makes Jos laugh. _He’ll never learn how to dress himself. Me neither, though._

Pulling his headband low over his ears, checking he has wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck, Jos steps out into the cold. “Hi there,” Ben grins, high fiving him (which does sound odd when you are both wearing gloves. “Bloody freezing today, hm?” “Nice change though.” Jos says and Ben nods. “God yes. I could never live on the subcontinent. Shall we?”

After Ben rings the doorbell, a distant bang can be heard from inside the house. An assortment of, Jos has no doubt, Yorkshire swearwords, trails down the corridor and Ben grins. “What’s he done this time?”

 

The figure that greets them is – a mess. Joe’s hair is tousled, and he is covered in flour from head to toe. Leaving white marks on his dark blue sweatshirt. He looks exhausted, like he has just run a marathon. Nevertheless, a beaming smile lights up his face as he catches sight of his guests.

“Stokesy and Josh.” Joe grins. “About bloody time.” “Happy birthday, Rooty.” Ben wants to hug Joe, but their host stops him. “Sorry, appreciate the gesture, but no. Don’t want to get all this flour on your nice new jacket, Ben.” “What exactly have you done to yourself? I mean, what have you done this time. We could hear you curse.” Ben laughs.

“You don’t want to know.” Joe shrugs and turns to Jos. “So brilliant you’re here.” he beams.

Jos loses himself in Joe’s eyes for a second. Which sparkle with joy, as usual. But … _there’s something different about him today._ To hide his confusion, he wags a finger at Joe. “How many times must I tell you to stop calling me Josh.” he chuckles “Couldn’t resist. Come on in, lads. The others are waiting for you and I’m just about done with the mulled wine. Until … well I’ve got stuff to take care of in the kitchen, but I’ll be with you in a second.” Joe, as usual, has not even stopped to catch his breath.

“I’d let Cooky handle that if I were you. You look like that, whatever it is, needs an expert.” Ben says to Joe after they are safely inside the house, the snowstorms that have been raging for a few days having picked just that moment to flare back up again. Joe sighs. “I would. If he was here.” he replies sadly.

Jos, who was in the middle of hanging up his coat, pauses. “What do you mean? That’s … is he okay?” he turns to Joe “As okay as he can be, considering the 18th.” Joe says concerned. “He’s, quote, in absolutely no mood to see anyone because I can’t face them right now unquote.”

“No doubt about that.” Ben sighs. “But Jimmy’s with him, I hope?” “No.” Joe says while he leads Jos and Ben into the kitchen. “There’s been … a thing. He’s at his brother’s. Ali, I mean.” “At least he’s not alone.” Ben stops in front of the door. “Anything we can do for him?” “Leave him for a while.” Joe replies. “He needs time to process it all.”

 

Jos listened to Joe’s account in silence and increased concern. Knowing Joe – and having watched Cooky and him become visibly closer since at least Southampton – that was only half the story. And Joe, as usual, is too much of a gentleman to break his promise to Cooky. Whatever it entails.

 _Not the point at the moment,_ Jos reminds himself and follows Joe into a spacious and very generously lighted red and white kitchen. Framed photos of herbs and flowers line a wall, there is a faint scent of oregano and garlic in the air. Mixed with the distinct smell of mulled wine. And … “Oh no, you knocked over a bottle of olive oil?” Ben laughs sympathetically. “What were you trying to do?”

“I’ve got this recipe off Ali. Pizza bread. That’s that smell coming from the oven and that’s also why I’m covered in flour.” Joe explains, opening a drawer. “Can we help?” “Nope, I’ll just cover it in kitchen towels until it’s all soaked up.” Joe throws a fresh handful onto the floor behind him. “Just watch where you’re going, okay lads? I’ll be with you in …” – the timer on the oven beeps – “ten more minutes. I need to change my shirt.”

 

Ben and Jos leave Joe to his cooking and go to the living room.

 

Two comfortable-looking sofas fill the room, an orange soft carpet stretched out in front of both of them. A selection of plants, some bookshelves – Jos needs to take a closer look later, to gather ideas for further presents for Joe – and an old wooden table, already decorated festively with white tablecloths and silver snowflakes. In the middle of the room, a large part of the oak floor has been left empty.

A small group is sitting on one of the sofas, playing cards. They look up as Jos and Ben approach. “Just in time!” Mark says, pointing out of the window at the completely white landscape. “Everything okay in the kitchen?” Ian chuckles. “He says he’s got it under control.” Jos laughs despite himself and grabs a handful of nuts from a bowl on the couch table.

“Or so he claims.”

Stuart’s appearance is enough to make Jos look twice. His bowling friend looks pale, like he has not had a good night’s sleep in at least eleven days. There is a shadow on Stuart’s face that makes Jos wonder if he has cried a lot recently.

Nevertheless, his smile seems genuine as he gets up to hug Jos. “Want in?” Stuart asks. “What are we playing?” “Blackjack, at least in theory.” Ian laughs.

 

“Excuse me?” A cheerful voice announces from the kitchen, 15 minutes later. “Thought you wanted something hot to drink?” “Finally, Joe!” Mark scrambles to his feet and helps Joe carry the pot of mulled wine to the dining table. “Help yourselves, mugs are on this bench.” Joe says generously and pours himself a cup. “Cheers and thanks for coming.”

They toast each other and Joe is about to say something when the kitchen timer beeps again. “And that’s your surprise first course for today. Pizza bread á la Chef. As in, our Chef, that is.” Joe grins. “I’ll bring it out.” A steaming fragrant earthenware plate is set down next to the pot. Curiously, Jos and his friends examine it. “That looks really rather delicious,” Ian compliments Joe. “Thanks mate. Cut off as much as you like.”

It is only now Jos remembers why he has come to Leeds in the first place. “I am an idiot, Joe, sorry.” he laughs. “Happy birthday.” Despite the butterflies flying around his belly, Jos holds out his arms for a hug. Which Joe strangely eagerly returns. Almost – for a second, three seconds at most – looks like he wants to bury his face in Jos’ neck.

“Hmm.” Joe says very softly. “Smell nice. And … sorry.” He immediately lets go of Jos and blushes. “Anyway, happy you’re here. All of you, lads. Been really looking forward to this.” “Me too,” Ben puts his mug down. “Want to get our presents now? Assuming you think you’ll get something from us?”

Joe grins delightedly. “I can’t really say anything to that, can I?”

 

Glad for an excuse to leave – and collect himself – Jos goes back to the corridor and looks for his parcel. _That was strange. Absolutely strange. I’ve never seen him react like this,_ he wonders while he carries the flowerpot in one hand and the carefully wrapped present in the other. _He’s gonna love both of them._

Proving Jos right, Joe all but lets out a delighted squeal as he rips the wrapping paper open. “You. Are. Kidding. Me.” he says excitedly and jumps up to hug Jos. _Again_. “Where on earth did you find a complete guitar notebook for Queen? I’ve been wanting to teach myself some of their songs for ages!” “I have my sources,” Jos smiles. “And … do you like the poinsettia?” he asks, pointing to the flowerpot in his other hand that Joe has ignored so far. “Oh, it’s pretty,” Joe grins. “Any reason for that particular flower?” he asks while he sets the pot down on a windowsill.

“I couldn’t bring actual red roses to Leeds, could I?” Jos replies before he can stop himself.

Everyone laughs. Even Stuart. Unsure where to look, Jos studies his shoelaces. _Gods, that laugh of his,_ he thinks while he feels himself warm up a bit more than he thought possible from a cup of mulled wine. Thankfully, Stuart makes him snap out of his embarrassed state. “Cheeky.” he compliments Jos. “And an excellent idea,” Mark says. “Love them, we always used to have at least one at Christmas.”

 

As Jos predicted, Joe asks his guests, about two hours and several rounds of Mario Kart on his new Wii console later, if they are okay with ordering pizza – “I know we already had some, or at least something pizza-ish, but who cares, right?” Everyone agrees and hands Joe a ten pound – note, Jos hesitating briefly before taking the money out of his wallet.

“What are you having, lads?” Joe asks, passing a leaflet around. “Oh, the usual.” Ian says. “Same here.” “Funghi e prosciutto for me, Joe.” Jos replies. “Right, I’ll place the order.”

 

When Joe returns, he insists, for some reason, to sit right next to Jos on the carpet. Reaches for a remote control on the couch and – for an instant – brushes against Jos’ left arm. Setting Jos’ insides on fire. _Have I ever known you’re so … soft? Fuck’s sake, Jos…_

“You may have noticed I cleared up a bit of space in the middle of the room?” Joe addresses his guests as if nothing happened. “So?” Ben asks curiously “Anyone want to dance a bit? It’s been such a long time since we went out and I’m not going out in this storm anyway, so we might as well have it here.” Joe grins in that infectious way only Joe can. “Brilliant. Can I have a look at your playlist?” Ben says and Joe passes him his iPod. “Okay … a little Flogging Molly never goes amiss, right, lads?” Ben addresses the room. “Sure, go ahead, Stokesy.” Ian says and Ben presses “play”.

Joe’s phone rings suddenly.

There is an unusually bright smile on his face as he picks it up from the shelf behind him. “Sorry, lads, got to take this,” Joe excuses himself and leaves the living room.

“Girlfriend?” Mark asks with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Could be.” Ian says thoughtfully. “Right, who’s joining me?”

And soon enough, the improvised dance floor is full as everyone, laughing, tries their best to dance in tune – or at least an approximation thereof – to the music. Making Joe giggle as he returns from his phone call, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “That looks so silly, I want in.” he says and notices Jos still sitting on the floor. “What’s up with you, Jossy?” “I can’t dance.” Jos excuses himself, trying not to dwell on Joe’s unusually delighted expression. _Who has he been speaking to?_

“Oh, come on, that’s nonsense. Who cares if you can dance?” Joe gives Jos such a comical pout that Jos has to laugh. “Okay.” he concedes, letting Joe pull him to his feet. “We need a new song,” Joe decides, grabbing the remote. “Love that one!” Mark shouts as the first strands of “(No more) Paddy’s lament” fill the room. “Then give us your best Irish jig, Woody,” Ben slaps Mark’s back.

“By the way, lads,” Joe shouts over the music, “Cooky says hi and wishes us a great party. He sounded a bit better before, to be honest.” “Brilliant.” Ian smiles. “Tell him we’re all thinking about him. And we’re here if he needs us.” “Will do,” Joe smiles in reply.

 _Cooky? You were talking to Cooky? That’s why you were beaming before?_ A flash of jealousy heats up Jos’ face. _Nonsense, I don’t even know what’s really going on between them._

_And what was that? After the third ODI in Sri Lanka? Where they …_

His unusually dark train of thoughts is broken by the sounds of his favourite song – and Joe’s, he remembers. “Good old “Take me out.” ” Joe pats Jos’ shoulder. “Sing along if you want.”

For a blissful three minutes, Jos loses himself in the music. In Joe’s shining eyes, his wide beam, dancing in a mildly silly but carefree way, laughing at Ian’s goofy moves. _I’ll save that video, thanks,_ Jos smiles.

“Brilliant.” Joe stops suddenly as the music comes to an end. Almost crashes into Jos. “Sorry, mate. I’ll… anyway, shouldn’t the pizza be here soon?” Ian turns the volume down. “Someone’s ringing the doorbell!” he announces and Joe, oddly crimson, hurries down the corridor. “Anyone help me bring them in?” “I’ll do it.” Ben says.

 

Late, very late at night, the party comes to an end before Ian falls asleep on the couch. Yawning, slightly exhausted (but in the best way possible), Joe’s guests grab their coats, jackets and woolly hats. “That was a thoroughly brilliant evening, thanks, Joe,” Ian says, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long few days.” “Don’t worry, thanks for coming, Belly. Tell me how the girls liked my chocolate cookies.” “Oh, they will love them.” Ian pats Joe on the back.

Joe – as usual – hugs everyone while they say their farewells, thank him for dinner and sweet treats and wish him “and all of us” a significantly better year 2015.

Jos finds himself unwilling to leave, lingering behind on the doorstep after Ben has left. “I …” Joe looks at Jos and stops himself with a bashful giggle. “Nonsense, time for you to get home. I know you’re at Jimmy’s tomorrow, right? Can’t have him wonder where you’ve been.” he says instead. “Because I’d be in for an earful about “fraternizing with the enemy”.” Jos laughs and Joe laughs with him. “Just … keep an eye on him for me, will you?” Joe adds in a strange voice. “Any reason?” Jos asks. “Yes. I promised I wouldn’t tell, though.” Joe bites his lip.

“Okay, I’ll do that for you. Thank you so much for tonight, Joe. It was fantastic.” Jos says a little more softly than he wanted. “It really was, no small thanks to you.” Joe replies in an equally soft tone.

The subsequent long – unusually long – hug and stunning smile  (and a moment in which Joe looked like he was about to kiss Jos on the cheek) are enough to keep Jos warm on the icy cold road back.

 _He’s so special to me,_ Jos thinks as he curls up in bed. Thinks of Joe’s smile.

And falls asleep to a gentle shower of butterflies.


	12. Very long days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Going back there is so much easier since July 14. ;)
> 
> March 2015.  
> The catastrophe just happened - England crashed out of the World Cup group stages against Bangladesh.  
> With Eoin finally cracking under the immense pressure, Stuart and Jimmy still not talking to each other and Jos ... well, Joe did listen in Southampton (as much as it breaks his heart) ... Joe is eternally grateful for his laptop. A pair of headphones. And a watch set to GMT.  
> But at the most excruciating team meeting in history, something happens that catches Joe off-guard.

Joe has a headache.

Nothing new, these past few days.

He has no idea when he last managed a full eight hours’ sleep. Vaguely recalls scoring a ton a week ago, a short, all too short relief from the concern, the frustration and the – by now – despair this World Cup has brought on ever since it started in the middle of February.

Long days, one after the other. Long hours on the plane (who really decided it was a good idea to hold the tournament in both Australia and New Zealand at the same time?). Seemingly endless hours in interchangeable training grounds, toiling away in the nets, trying his best to keep his spirits up in the field as result after result went exactly the wrong way.

In fact, Joe reflects gloomily while he places his bat in between towels and his kit and closes his kitbag, in fact the writing had been on the wall for a long time. Ever since that calamitous, pointless, crushing defeat in Wellington last week.

Or perhaps, since December.

Now there is a thought he is definitely keeping to himself.

Objectively, he knows there was a logical reason for all of it. Objectively, when a year went as badly as it did for Ali last year, there is really no other choice but to find someone responsible for it. And have him face the consequences.

_But they should have kept him in the team, fuck’s sake. We could have done with him._

_Morgy needed him._

Joe’s heart sinks as he recalls the devastated look on Morgy’s face when Stuart lost his wicket in the penultimate over. Not the first time Joe had seen one of his captains struggle. Really struggle. Joe has no idea how Morgy made it through the presentations with his emotions almost intact.

Has no idea what to say to his Irish friend who has let the pressure get to him at long last. Has entirely run out of things to cheer him up with, at least since they lost against New Zealand. Who simply blew them away with their flashy, exciting, modern approach to white ball-cricket.

_Morgs knows he’s in for something very painful when we come home. And he’s got nobody to talk to. At least, not in our team. We’re all hurting far too much ourselves._

 

Come to think of it, Joe is not sure if these past four weeks have not actually been worse than the last away Ashes series. Granted, there were no fights, no arguments, no painful early retirements (which reminds Joe that Swanny’s birthday is coming very soon and that he still needs to come up with a present). But they had gone into this World Cup, Joe’s first World Cup, with such high hopes.

_And now it’s over. It’s all over. And I can’t, for the life of me, stop thinking we made this worse for ourselves. And I miss him._

Joe glances at the watch he has been wearing on his right wrist. Five minutes to two p.m.

  _I just hope you haven’t been watching. Haven’t ruined your morning with this._

 _Just half an hour to go._ Which does, to his surprise, lift his spirits just a tiny bit.

 

Sighing, Stuart plants himself on the bench next to Joe.

“You okay there, mate?” he asks and shoots Joe a look. Which, considering the state Stuart has been in since the warm- up games, is actually quite touching. Because it is quite painfully obvious (at least to Joe) that Stuart is going through a lot, emotionally. The football banter, the hours Stuart usually spends with the younger bowlers, helping them prepare for big occasions, even the frankly quite weird music he loves to make everyone listen to who has the misfortune to find themselves in the car with him – all that seems to have disappeared.

 

And that does not even take the oddest fact of all into account. Something everyone noticed after their defeat in the opening game of the World Cup.

Stuart and Jimmy do not talk to each other. At all. Do not, as usual, spend a few moments with each other between overs when they are bowling in tandem, exchanging tips on conditions and the opposing batsmen. Even back at the hotel, in the short hours of respite they all so desperately need, their usually inseparable opening partnership avoids each other like the plague.

Joe noticed it from the moment they all met up for training in January. But when he – very cautiously – tried to ask Jimmy if there was anything he could do, he got such a colourful earful in reply that that idea was shut down in an instant.

_But I can’t shake off the feeling there’s more behind it. I mean, I know what Jimmy’s probably fighting with. And maybe … nonsense. Absolute nonsense._

“No.” Joe admits quietly. Stuart puts a hand on his shoulder. “None of us are. Not today.” he replies and sounds like he has been fighting back tears. “You … are you talking to someone? Back home, I mean?” Joe asks, concerned. “I know I would ( _I am, but I don’t want to mention him right now, I know Morgy can hear me_ ).”

Before Stuart can reply anything, however, Eoin stands up.

 

His smile ( _you really don’t have to try, Morgy, it’s just us)_ is strained, tense, as he addresses his team: “Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with the press for tonight. Just … make sure you don’t look at the news, okay? And no social media either. That’s the last thing you want to read, trust me. Because…”, a strangled noise escapes Eoin and Joe almost wants to jump up and give him a hug, “that’s just gonna make it worse. That’s it. Really don’t know what to say. Let’s go, the bus is waiting.”

Silently, Joe’s teammates get up, file out of the door.

No chats, no music accompany them on their long lonely walk out of the ground.

Before Joe leaves the changing room, he sees Jos ( _of course, Jos must have heard how badly Morgy’s voice was shaking_ ) put an arm around Eoin’s shoulders. Whisper something that briefly makes their captain smile.

 _He’s got such a good heart._ Fragile as Joe is right now, that sight is enough to bring tears to his eyes as well. _The last bloody thing I want to think about tonight or I’m gonna …_ He looks at his watch before he really chokes up.

 _Twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes._ A deep breath and Joe closes the door behind him.

 

Mo, Chris, Alex and CJ chat softly, listen to music on Alex’ phone. Finny, sitting in the other front row by himself – as usual, it is the only place he can fit in- , is on his phone as well, talking to his mother (at least if his constant “no really, I’m fine, don’t worry” is anything to go by.).

Titch and Ian are leaning against the windows, fast asleep. Or successfully pretending to be.

And just two rows ahead of him, Joe can see Morgy’s  head on Jos’ shoulder.

Other than that, everything is silent while the bus brings them back to a much-needed rest. A heavy silence. Gloom, frustration, grief and a healthy dose of guilt (as if that run-out was CJ’s fault, honestly). Nobody wants to talk. Nobody really knows what to say.

 _Ten more minutes._ Joe glances across the aisle and – accidentally – meets Jimmy’s eyes. Is shocked to see them shimmering with tears while Jimmy’s finger, absent-mindedly- runs across the red and white armband on his right wrist. _I know you miss him_ , Joe thinks. _I miss him too._

 

“We’re back.” Stuart taps Joe on the shoulder. “Thank god.” Joe replies and swallows. “I … Rooty, you can come to me if you want. In case you don’t want to be alone.” Stuart even manages to smile for a split second.

“That’s really nice of you,” Joe says and grabs his backpack. Yawns. “I’ll try and get some sleep in though. But I … in case I can’t.” “You know where to find me.” Stuart squeezes Joe’s shoulder and hurries to catch up with Finny. Who left the bus without a second glance.

 

Strangely, now he is back at the hotel, Joe feels like his headache has eased up a bit. _It can’t all be down to this?_ he wonders while he goes upstairs to his room (today, he really does not mind the extra exercise, even though his legs are screaming while he hauls himself up the staircase). _That’s nonsense. That’s…_

 _It probably is, though,_ Joe realises as he unlocks his door. Closes it behind him before Ravi and Mo, whose voices he just heard behind him, can catch up with him.

_I don’t want to miss this. It was my idea after all._

_Here’s hoping he knows what to do with his headphones, that is._ To his surprise, Joe hears himself laugh softly while he gets changed, pulls his pyjama bottoms on, grabs his laptop from the nightstand, puts his own headphones on and curls up in bed. Waits an agonising minute until his laptop connects with the hotel WiFi (thank god the ECB cover their internet costs on tour – for the time being at least).

Turns Skype on and waits.

Does not wait long.

Feels a relieving warmth spread around his body as the internet phone service rings and clicks on “accept call.” _I’m not alone. I’ve got you._

Ali’s face on the screen immediately answers Joe’s first question. There is an unmistakeable concern in those familiar brown eyes. And Ali looks like he is struggling for the right words.

“I’m so sorry.” he eventually says.

The tone of his voice is enough to break Joe’s resolve within seconds. _Fuck. I really thought I’d be able to keep it together for a while;_ he thinks while he feels tears running down his cheeks. Grabs the keychain Ali sent him before they left in January, closes his left fist around it.

And keeps on meeting Ali’s eyes.

“Shh. It’s okay, Joey.” Ali whispers gently. Which only serves to remind Joe how far away they are from each other right now. It is spring at home – or at least it is going to be spring in a few weeks. Mid-afternoon, going by the light on the screen behind Ali it is a fairly nice day. Not much time left before the start of the county season _._ Joe’s second most favourite time of the year.

 _What wouldn’t I give for spring right now,_ he thinks and tries to count the miserably grey autumn days they had over the last week. _One of these quite pretty afternoons in early March where the air begins to smell a little bit different and you start to think you’re over the worst of it._

_And, of course, and to be exact, I’d give at least three of my favourite bats for you to be here right now._

“Fuck.” is all Joe eventually manages. Coughs to clear his throat.

“Fuck indeed.” Ali smirks briefly. “What happened? I mean, I only saw the last ten overs.” he adds in the same gentle, worried tone. “That is, in case you want to talk about it.”

“What happened? Please keep this to yourself.” Joe has no idea where this thought came from. And as much as he hates himself for it, deep down he knows it is at least part of the truth. “What happened is we’re hopeless. We’re hopelessly behind the times, we slept through the biggest revolution in one day cricket since I’ve been playing and we’re being caught out in the single most brutal way possible.” he says with a rueful sigh.

“Oh wow.” Ali is stunned momentarily. “Does anyone else know that’s what you think?”

“I’m not You Know Who, I am not undermining my captain or anything. God knows, he’s in for A LOT going by the stuff they were saying at the press conference. He needs our support. Now more than ever.”

 

“Probably good.” Ali agrees. “How is he?”

“How do you honestly think he is?” Joe replies and thinks back to Eoin’s pale face at the presentations.

“I think I know.” A shadow passes over Ali’s face. “Do you think he wants to hear from me?”

Joe considers his answer. “No. Not yet anyway. That would just remind him of … you know. And in any case, he’s not entirely alone. Jos is keeping an eye on him, as a good vice-captain does. Also … I may have seen something.”

Ali smiles. “I miss that. You playing amateur Sherlock Holmes.” he says fondly.

“What else am I supposed to do on plane flight after plane flight?” Joe smiles as well, knows Ali is thinking of the same incident he is. “True. So, my consulting detective, what are your deductions?”

“Morgy may be fraternising with … well you can’t really call Baz an enemy, can you.” Joe, wondering where on earth that laugh just came from, says.

“You what.” Ali’s stunned look makes Joe laugh again. “Since when?”

“I’ve got eyes, you know. And they’ve been playing together for a while.” Joe points out.

“Knowing you, you’re on to something.” Ali processes the news. “Morgs and Baz. Well … can’t say I blame him. Brendon’s a lovely fella.” Joe does not reply. He definitely has gotten his head around the fact that Ali … well, for want of a better word, that they are even similar in that special way.

_Come on, Joseph, that’s the perfect occasion to tell him. Just say “he’s not my type,” or something like that. Ali just left you an opening as big as the … bad metaphor, absolutely bad and definitely not helpful._

Joe sighs at himself and turns back to the screen. “You okay?” Ali says affectionately.

“I … just worried about Stu. He’s not doing all too well.” _As far as excuses go, that’s a good one. Because I AM worried about Stu. Everyone is._ “I know, Matty’s told me. They chat quite often. Matty wouldn’t say what he’s so sad about, though.”

Joe lets out a breath. “Phew. At least he’s got someone.”

“That’s what best friends are for, right?” A simple statement, but it is accompanied by such a handsome ( _fuck’s sake, Joseph_ ) warm smile that Joe can not misunderstand the message behind it.

 

A fresh lump forms in Joe’s throat. He swallows quickly and, to distract himself, but also because he is genuinely curious, asks Ali about training and news from Chelmsford. Listens for a while, laughs again as he sees Ali give off one of the best impressions of Nasser Hussain there is – “complete with beak!” ( _I need to tell that one to Swanny_ ). Nevertheless, it reminds him of everything else.

 

“I miss you.” Joe admits as Ali’s account finishes.

Ali’s face softens.

“I miss you too. But … well you know what I was about to say, so I’m not saying it. I … Joey, it’s nearly half past 12 over there, you need to sleep.” he says a little more quietly than before.

“Can’t.” Joe replies shakily. Feels fresh tears stinging at the back of his eyelids.

 

“Try it, okay? Just… lie down. And close your eyes.” A caring smile accompanies Ali’s words.

There it is again.

That strangely intense warm feeling.

Joe chooses not to dwell on it ( _that’s about fifteen times as many emotions as I can_ _handle tonight_ ). Lies back on his pillow, pulls the blanket around him ( _thank god for wireless headphones_ ). Before he shoves the laptop onto the mattress, he shares one last look with Ali.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I promised.” Ali’s reply is simple. Matter-of-factly. But Joe knows exactly how he meant it.

Curling into a ball, Joe closes his eyes.

Listens to Ali’s soft voice while he eventually, exhausted from the day’s efforts and from his frustration, does fall asleep after all.

With his keychain still in his left hand.

 

When his fifth alarm does wake him up eventually, eight hours and a bit of almost uninterrupted sleep later, the sun ( _because of course_ ) seems to have decided to appear again. Bathing the streets of Adelaide in a, Joe has to admit, quite nice soft autumn light.

Joe has a shower. Does not mind his thoughts wandering back to last week in Wellington when he accidentally walked in on Jos having a massage in the physiotherapist’s room. He may have (occasionally) accepted that there is no chance for them (otherwise Jos would have done something by now and besides, he seemed pretty set on his (bloody) decision back in Southampton). But that does not mean he can indulge himself a little. _And that was a gorgeous sight. And a fascinating smile._

Unfortunately, the image keeps sticking in his mind while he meets the others for breakfast.

Too well, in fact. Because the moment he spots Jos in the subdued, dejected line that forms in front of the “egg cooking station”, Joe feels his entire body heat up, his heart race and really wants to disappear into the ground there and then. Does not want to look Jos into the eyes, scared to give himself away. Again.

Eoin, ahead of Joe in the line, yawns widely. Does not look as if he has slept more than four hours. “What are you having?” he asks, evidently determined to have at least one ordinary conversation. “Scrambled eggs, chives and a bit of cheese. And brown sauce.” Joe yawns too. “Sounds nice.” Eoin says and orders his eggs with exactly the same ingredients. “By the way, Rooty, I still haven’t forgotten about that ice cream I promised you last week.”

Joe smiles. “Morgy, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time for that.” he says and puts a hand on Eoin’s shoulder. Eoin sighs. “I know. I just … want to think of something different, for a change.”

And just like that, a somber mood takes hold of Joe once again. He simply nods and lets Eoin pass. Orders his eggs, carries them to his place on the table in silence, eats his breakfast without daring to look up. Hears Jimmy say something  to Titch, strains his ears to make out Titch’s reply. Mo, two seats to Joe’s left, listens to Chris explaining something elaborate about coffee shops and how they absolutely need to spend a day in Wellington just for that. The jokes, the fun, the … life, for want of a better word, seems to have gone out of his team entirely.

It is by far the most miserable breakfast Joe has ever had. _And it’s only going to get worse,_ he realises with a sigh while his phone buzzes, reminding him that today’s team meeting is starting in ten minutes. _Excruciating isn’t even beginning to cover it. Can’t be easy on Pete either._

_The writing’s on the wall for him as well, I think. And all of that in an Ashes year._

Joe lets out a long breath and a hand pats his back. Jimmy. Looking even more miserable than usual. “You’re right, Rooty.” he says with something approaching a smirk (for half a minute at best). “At least it’s nearly over now. Only one more week and then I don’t want to hear anything about this bloody place for the rest of the year.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” Joe agrees. “Coffee, mate?” “Now you mention it…thanks.”

 

At nine a.m, sharp, Peter arrives with the keys to one of the hotel meeting rooms. One of these bland function rooms Joe has seen at least on every continent. Entirely interchangeable, except for a rather pretty aerial photograph of the city of Adelaide on the wall to Joe’s right.

He spends a while studying it before realising everyone has already helped themselves to a chair, pulled them up in a circle in the middle of the room which gives off a rather odd smell of hash browns and dust. “Sorry, lads.” Joe apologises and hears Alex and Mo laugh for an instant. “At least some things never change, right, Rooty?” Alex winks at Joe while he grabs a chair for himself and looks for a spot to sit.

 _Just. My. Luck._ Of course, the sight alone is enough to wake up the butterflies in Joe’s belly. He swallows the sharp intake of breath he knows he was about to make (because that would just make them suspicious, fuck’s sake).

“May I?” he says softly (has no idea why he just had to whisper), hardly daring to tap Jos on the shoulder.

Jos looks up, startled (evidently “up in the clouds”). And smiles ( _Joseph Charles Buttler, that smile of yours is …_ It is a bad sign, a really bad sign, if Joe entirely runs out of words to think). “Sure.” he says and makes room for Joe.

“How … got any sleep last night?” Jos whispers while Peter waits for their statistical analysis program to load and has a look at his notes.

“I tried. I think I was just too exhausted.” Joe says and Jos smiles again. “That’s something. I … well I had a chat with Marcus and Tregs before I went to bed. Not that that’s made it easier, but … it helped.” “Does good to remind you you’re not entirely without friends.” Joe agrees.

Jos looks surprised. ( _Please keep talking, please… Pete, you don’t have any sense of timing_ ).

Before he can reply, however, their coach clears his throat. Addresses his team in a voice that sounds wearier than anyone of them has heard before: “Lads. I … what happened yesterday?”

“Where do I start? With my own failure? As a batsman or as a captain? Because … I let you down. Yesterday. I let all of you down.” Eoin says. Sounds on the verge of tears.

 

 _Painful is an understatement,_ Joe thinks while the discussion, mostly led by Stuart, Ian and CJ, goes back and forth, keeps returning to the same painful, inevitable moments of the previous evening. No arguments, no fights. Quiet exhaustion, frustration and the reality – a group-stage exit, what an embarrassment – finally settling in like a dark cloud on a sticky, oppressive afternoon in August.

“It’s not like we never play against spin with the white ball either.” Ian says, shaking his head. “Bangladesh really found us out last night. Brilliant tactics.”

 

Joe wants to say something to Ian, but … becomes aware of something warm next to his left hand. A million shooting stars ( _since when am I this godsdamned kitschy_ ) explode in his arm as he dares to sneak a glance downwards on to the soft dark red upholstery.

And sees a hand.

_Oh my god. Oh my god our hands are touching. Ourhandsaretouching. Granted, we’re not holding hands, but what the … what is he doing._

Joe’s heart pounds in his throat as he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Jos’ thumb briefly lift itself from the pillow he is sitting on.

And settle straight on Joe’s pinky finger.

 

_What. The._

Joe is too stunned to even swear at himself.

Feels two light grey eyes look at him.

 _I have no idea what you’re doing,_ Joe thinks (does NOT want to turn his head right now). _But please, please continue._

_It might be the only thing that ever happens between us._

And for the rest of the meeting, the clouds over Joe’s head become a little lighter.

 


	13. Beach cricket and an overdue ton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grenada and Barbados, April and May 2015.  
> The results may not go their way just yet, but the mood in the England test side is far better than it has been for almost two years.  
> And as they play beach cricket (should that be banter cricket?) and celebrate their captain's overdue 26th test hundred, something, imperceptible at first,  
> begins to change between Joe and Jos.  
> Not that they'd be willing to admit it, mind you.  
> Because this is not happening.

“Will you shut up and listen for a minute?”

Ali is already yelling at the top of his voice, but the chaos around him – consisting, at the moment, of unrecognisable music blasting from Ben’s phone (the only thing Ali can really, honestly say about it is that it is loud and seems to contain the word “fuck” every so often) and Mo and Ian treating their teammates to yet another rendition of “Land of Hope and Glory” (if they would at least remember the _words_ ) – will not die down.

Frustrated (but mostly amused, it has been such a long time since his team felt free enough to do that), Ali casts an eye around the room. In search of support. _Someone PLEASE get them to stop. I’m only asking for three minutes. After that, I don’t care what you want to do._

“Oi, lads, shut it, Cooky wants to say something.” a cheerful voice shouts from the showers. Joe, wearing his towel on top of his head as if it was a fez, saunters into the changing room, fiddles with the zippers on his tracksuit jacket. “And besides, Belly, it’s “Thine equal _laws_ , by freedom gained.” Not _lords._ ” Joe adds and ducks preventively behind Stuart.

“And since when are you the expert?” Ian laughs, but Joe’s comment had the desired effect. Ben presses “pause” and at once, the changing room falls silent. As silences go, Ali thinks, they have never been more comfortable.

_And thanks, Joey. I owe … I mean I really should have known it would be you._

_You are making a very good case for yourself right now,_ Ali thinks and shoots Joe a fond smile. Until now, he has not told anyone about the second task the board gave him before they left for the West Indies tour – “give us three suggestions for your vice-captain.”

_I don’t think I need three. I think … well I already knew the moment they told me I was supposed to do this. Just as Straussy said he immediately knew._

_This, after all, is history repeating itself._ _And it couldn’t be more beautiful if it tried._

Joe catches Ali’s eye and winks at him. Grins a bit shyly. “You were about to say something, skip?”

Ali smiles. “Thanks Joe. Lads – what can I say. That was exactly what I wanted you to do. And better. Stu, Jimmy, well done on your four-fors.” He pauses for an instant, hoping nobody has seen the colour creep up his cheeks when Jimmy smiled at him. “And Joe. If there was a way to give you those last 18 runs, I’d do it, believe me. That was…”

“Outrageous batting.” Someone says quietly.

Joe’s heart skips a beat. _You meant that, didn’t you. You really … DON’T LOOK AT HIM, Joseph._

“Well said, Jos.” Ali laughs. “Where was I… oh, that’s right. Lads, I’m proud. Of all of you. Our fielding was brilliant, you all worked out how to play the short ball – we couldn’t have done anything better if we tried.” “Same goes for you though.” Jimmy says before he can stop himself. And Mo leads the room in a round of applause.

“Thanks.” Ali says warmly after the noise dies down again. “That’s all from me for tonight. Just … don’t go overboard, okay? We’re meeting tomorrow at 1 pm, the helicopters will pick us up in front of the hotel, so make sure you’ve got all your bags – yes, _all of your stuff,_ I sure hope you know where you kept your socks this time, Gary …,” everyone laughs, “ready by then.”

“Let’s go,” Ben says and stands up. “Starving.” he explains and stretches.

“And what are we doing after dinner? It’s still nice out. Sun’s not going down for a while.” Gary asks after he has – not entirely earnestly – rolled his eyes at Ali.

“Does anyone fancy beach cricket?” someone suggests from the back of the changing room.

“Was that really you, Jim?” Stuart laughs in disbelief. Gets a grumble – a very familiar, but entirely unconvincing one – in reply. “So? It’s the Windies, we can’t do this anywhere else.” Jimmy suggests with a shrug, his face set into his habitual scowl. But there is – something his friends have not seen in a while – a sparkle in his eyes.

 

 _No wonder, it’s already the tour of a lifetime for him,_ Joe thinks with a smile while he re-fills his water bottle. Remembers the extraordinary events at Viv Richards Stadium a week ago and feels a shiver run down his spine. Jimmy, running in with the ball in hand. Joe’s usual split-second thought – “that’s gonna be a good one, better get myself ready”. Following the red ball with his eyes, hearing the telling sound of willow edging – just about edging – leather … and seeing it carry directly into Ali’s hands.

 _384 wickets. Three hundred and eighty-four. Magical figures. Historical figures._ No other English bowler ever reached such dizzying heights. _And you couldn’t have written a better script for it if you tried. At least for Ali. Because that meant a great deal to him. Not that anyone knew. Except me._

Joe discreetly kept an eye on his two friends while everyone – even Peter – ran up to congratulate Jimmy on his record. Saw Jimmy hug Ali for what could only have been a minute, two minutes at must. When they broke apart, both of them grinned at each other and there was a very telling (for Joe at least) shine in Ali’s eyes.

 _And he wouldn’t shut up about it in the morning,_ Joe thinks and laughs to himself. _He’s really got it bad. Well … at least they’re friends again. And what better way for them to make up?_

 

Since that unforgettable afternoon, a refreshing sense of “normality restored” has settled over the England camp. Their captain seems to finally relax again, their opening bowling partnership spends their fielding days shit-talking, winding each other up and spurring each other on to trickier balls and better economy rates. Games, long forgotten in the ups and downs of the summer against India, are being reintroduced and evenings which, not so long ago, would have been cut short by exhaustion and frustration, are starting to become longer and longer again.

_I’m right where I want to be. In one of the most gorgeous places on earth, with some of my best friends, doing brilliant out in the middle and …_

_I don’t even worry that much about my other problem._

_Which is not a problem at all. Because, Joseph, this is NOT a thing._

Joe stifles a sigh and hopes Ben, who he now realises has been looking at him for a while,  mistakes it for a yawn. “I take it you’re not playing with us, Rooty?” his old friend asks a little disappointed. “Thought you wanted to get those remaining 18 runs?” Ben adds with a wink “I … what? Sorry, wasn’t paying attention, Stokesy.” Joe grins. “We’re going to play on the beach?”

“What exactly do you think I meant by beach cricket, you pest.” Jimmy replies exasperatedly. “Broady and me bowl and whoever wants to bat, is in.” “I’d like to field,” CJ joins in. “Fine, you get to field in the water, mate.” Stuart grins mischievously. “I …” “We all take turns fielding in the water,” Ali, returning from the car park, interrupts CJ and ushers his team out of the changing room. “Thought you were all on the verge of starvation? I’ve been waiting outdoors for at least ten minutes!” he adds, trying and failing to sound annoyed.

Jimmy gives Ali a playful punch on the arm. “You should know us by now, Alastair,” he laughs, and Joe sees Ali blush. “That’s right. So, we all take turns in the water – up to the knees, otherwise it’s too difficult. And…,” Ali catches Joe’s eye and laughs, “we’ll use the plastic bats we’ve got for training.”

“Oh, thank god, in that case I’m in too,” Gary says and grins relieved.

Jimmy snorts. “You lot and your bats.”

“Would do you good to take at least a few tips from us,” Gary retorts. “I’ve seen the state yours is in and frankly, it doesn’t surprise me that you don’t score a lot of runs with it.”

“Because I don’t have to.” Jimmy rolls his eyes fondly. “Come on, lads, dinner’s waiting.”

 

 _These are the days I’m living for,_ Joe thinks after some agonising minutes in front of his wardrobe, entirely unable to choose between T-shirts. _It’s only just 6 pm, we’ve had a brilliant five days of red ball-cricket, I nearly – nearly – got another double century and everyone’s having a great time._

_And there was that thing last morning._

Joe does not have to look in the mirror to realise he is beaming.

Has replayed the scenes in his mind’s eye time and time again.

Jos had just got back to the balcony after what was, even he admitted as much after stumps, a rather well-timed stumping. A delivery from Bishoo, slightly off-target, that Joe met brilliantly, swept hard through backward square to bring up his 150. While Stuart shouted something Joe could not understand (someone in the stands had started the by now customary chant of “Roooooooot!” and by the noise of it, every single England supporter was joining in), Joe let his eyes flicker to the balcony.    

Saw Jimmy give him a thumbs-up, Trotty smiling, Ali (as usual) raising two fingers to his right temple and winking at him ( _no idea where that started, but it is turning into our official salute_ ). And there was Jos. Meeting Joe’s eyes for just a few seconds (enough to make Joe’s heart race more than he needs it to out in the middle). Smiling. And … Joe knows he probably imagined that. But for a while he was absolutely sure he saw Jos blow him a tiny, barely visible, kiss.

Not that he will ever bring this up, mind you. And anyway, that hug – or rather, that Viking embrace (Joe owes Mark one for coming up with that term) – that Joe got from Jos when they ran back in after Jimmy lost his wicket, was enough to keep him warm for the rest of the day.

_I definitely imagined that second bit though. I wanted to see you blush. So I thought I did._

 

Joe gives himself a once-over in the mirror and someone bangs at his door. “Coming? They’re firing up the barbecue and you know what Gary’s like when it comes to grilled fish.” “I’ll be there in a second, Cookie monster,” Joe laughs and runs a hand through his hair. _Done._

Ali greets him with a wide affectionate smile as Joe closes his door behind him. “Doesn’t get much better than today, does it?” he says and puts an arm around Joe’s shoulders. Joe tilts his head and grins up at him. “Hardly. I mean, Jimmy still has to compensate me for ruining my double century.” he laughs. Ali joins in his laughter. “Give me some time, I’ll come up with something.”

Chatting away with an ease that still surprises Joe, they leave the hotel and make their way across the beach, the smell of burning coals and spices wafting over from the small restaurant. “Over here, you two!” Ian shouts as he sees Ali and Joe come closer, pointing to two seats on his right side. “Trotty saved us that table.”

“Thanks, lads,” Ali says and (only now) removes his arm from Joe’s shoulders. There is a mildly annoyed grunt from the far end of the table as he does so. And Jos, Joe can not fail but notice, looks slightly confused. “What.” Joe tells him. “I like Sherlock. I mean, I like that series. Billy brought the shirt back from the museum in London. He’s also got one for himself.”

“I wasn’t …” Jos stumbles and grins. Gives Joe something that could almost pass as a once-over ( _I’m glowing again, fuck’s sake, here’s hoping nobody_ _notices_ ). “Nice T-shirt.” he says with a laugh that sends a fresh shiver down Joe’s spine. “And … dark blue suits you.” _What._

“I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes?” Stuart grins, returning from the buffet with a plate of salad. “Nice one, Rooty, but do remind me – what exactly do you have that you need to shave?”

“Lay off me, will you?” Joe grumbles and busies himself with the menu. _And thanks, mate. You potentially saved me. Nearly threw myself under the bus._

 

Several generous helpings of everything later, Stuart stands up. “Now we’re all completely stuffed, let’s play.” he says and takes the kit bag laying at his feet. “Any special rules, lads?” Ian asks while they follow him down to a deserted stretch of beach.

“Anything goes, short of aiming at someone’s family jewels or bouncers. I don’t want us to get any stupid injuries, don’t forget there’s still a test left in this series.” Ali tells everyone using his no-nonsense captain voice. “Right sir, Cooky sir.” Ian salutes and helps himself to one of the plastic bats. “Jimmy, you bowl first, I assume?”

“What else.” Jimmy almost – almost – laughs, weighing a red ball in his hand. “That one feels about right. Be prepared, lads, this could potentially look completely stupid. I have no idea what it’s gonna do on sand.” “Oh stop it, who cares.” Mo tells him. “How do you want your field?”

Joe, to his immense delight, finds himself right behind Jos (who, out of pure habit, is fielding in his usual wicketkeeping spot, behind a pile of T-shirts that doubles as the stumps). Squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds and counts to ten. _I know he’s not wearing a shirt, but you are not going to spend the entire game staring at him, okay?_

“We done?” Jimmy asks. “And you all get three shots, okay?” “Brilliant.” Joe replies, stretching. “I do still need 18 runs today, thanks to you.”

Jimmy laughs. “As if I’m gonna let you hit me for six.”

“Play.” Trotty lowers his arm.

 

The game that unfolds can only be described as a complete (and hilarious) shambles. As Jimmy predicted, the ball does anything but swing on the wet sand. Leaving both Stuart and him to pull out all the stops, trying to find the edge with trickier deliveries.

While they move the field around, stop the game every so often for someone to dive into the sea and retrieve the ball, Joe uses every opportunity he gets to sneak a glance at the wicketkeeper just a few metres in front of him. _Nothing wrong if I enjoy a bit of view, right? And I haven’t had such an uninterrupted view of him in ages._

The sun is about to sink behind the hills at the end of the bay, bathing everything and everyone in a soft orange light. That only serves to highlight Jos’ increasingly toned arms and his … “Rooty, get a move on, you’re next in!” Stuart laughs.

Joe sighs quietly. Feels a spark shoot up his arm as he walks past Jos and gets a pat on the shoulder. “You’re gonna do fine.” Jos says and laughs softly. “Better than Gary, anyway.”

Joe grins and does not reply. “Alright, show us how to bat, Rooty.” Ian winks at Joe and crouches down in the slips.

Joe takes a deep breath. _Ready._

Granted, Jimmy’s first delivery would have beaten him on any other day. A full toss, with surprising speed given that Jimmy is running in without his trusted boots, clearly aimed at his inside edge – but Joe, following his instincts, gets down on one knee and reverse-sweeps the ball for six.

“Fuck’s sake.” Jimmy sounds almost affectionate. “Okay then.” he says and orders his field around. “What are you gonna do with this one then, eh?”

_More of the same._

Which Joe does, timing his shot so well Jimmy has no chance but to follow the ball with his eyes. “Rooty, fuckssake, this is supposed to be a fun game.” Mo laughs. “Can’t help myself!” Joe replies, feeling a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just having a brilliant few days.”

“Watch it,” Ali shouts from first slip. “You’ve made our grumpy cat even grumpier.”

“So?” Joe shrugs and hears his absolute favourite laugh behind him. “Don’t put him off, lads.” Jos chuckles and Joe feels butterflies in his stomach. _Don’t tell them, stop putting ME off, Jos._

But today, Joe can not put a foot wrong – as long as he has a bat in his hands, that is.

Because the moment after he hit Jimmy’s third delivery for yet another six, a pull shot that would even get him an appreciative nod from KP, threw his bat in the air in delight and saw even Jimmy give him a thumbs-up, followed by his customary leap for joy – Joe stumbles. Slips on the moist underground.

And finds himself face first in the last place he wants to be in right now.

Arms grab his shoulders. Steady him.

Joe hardly dares to breathe. Shuts his eyes. _Hold me. Keep … just keep holding me._

There is an interesting expression in Jos’ eyes as he ( _why, fuck_ ) lets go of Joe again. “I … you okay? You nearly fell over.” he says hoarsely. “I have no idea what happened.” Joe whispers (w _hy the fuck am I whispering, that’s bound to come across as creepy, fuck_ ). Still feels the warmth of Jos’ arms even though they are standing a foot and a half apart. Wonders, for a few confused seconds, if he should take another step and …

“That’s what we need a good wicketkeeper for.” Ian laughs, breaking the spell. “Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone catch a batsman before.”

Which is enough to send his teammates into complete hysterics. “Belly, you do have a talent for this stuff.” Jonathan says, wiping tears of laughter with his eyes. “Right, who’s next? Mo?”

“You okay?” Ali whispers while Joe gets back into third slip. With a strange undertone, Joe can not feel to notice. _Did you just see that? If there’s anyone who picked up on it, it has to be you. Is that … should I bring it up at six thirty? Is that maybe my chance to …? Or am I, as usual, reading too much into things?_

A hand on his left shoulder and two warm brown eyes look at him. “Joey?” Ali says softly. Sounds like he has to stifle a giggle. “You were miles away.” Joe turns bright red. “’s nothing. I just thought I’d love to go for a run tomorrow morning.” he mumbles. Ali shoots him a look clearly meant to say “that’s not the whole story, I know that, but I won’t pressure you.”

“Fair enough, let’s do that.” Ali smiles and gives Stuart a thumbs up. “Ready.”

 

They do not leave the beach until they absolutely have to, stretching out on the soft white sand, counting stars and telling each other stories. One of those evenings Joe had been craving for a while. _I don’t want to be anywhere else right now,_ he thinks while he watches Stuart and Jimmy go back inside together, Jimmy’s arms around Stuart’s shoulders (as much as that is possible), laughing at some thing that makes no sense to anyone else but them.

“That was such a lot of fun.” a soft voice says behind Joe’s ear. When he turns around, Jos, his tracksuit jacket thrown over his shoulders in that lazy elegant way of his, is grinning at him, his grey eyes sparkling. “It was. Even by Jimmy’s standards, that was a hilarious little strop when Mo left his last ball.” Joe laughs and Jos laughs with him. “So, we’re off to Barbados next, right?”

“Right.” Joe yawns. “I’ve never taken a helicopter anywhere before.” Jos says. “Bound to be fun. Remind me to take my camera out, I really need to try and get a few shots.”

“You’re a photographer?” Joe asks, genuinely interested. And tries not to punch himself for the stupid question after it has left his mouth. Jos chuckles again. “Not like that. I just … my dad got me this digital camera for Christmas and I’ve brought it along with me. I’m still getting the hang of it.”

“I’d love to … I mean, do you want to show me some of your photos?” Joe asks, more softly than he intended to. “Absolutely, let’s do that tomorrow afternoon.” Jos beams ( _that’s going into my private photo library, Jos, thanks_ ) and stops himself. Evidently has another idea. “I … but only if I can have a look at your drawing pad.”

Joe knows his entire face is glowing. Hopes he does not grin too stupidly. “Of course you can.”

“I’m honoured.” Jos smiles. “Cooky’s shown me that gorgeous picture of his house that you got him for Christmas. So … I’m curious. He’s waxed lyrical about your drawing skills.”

 _He has?_ Joe’s entire body is warm. “Tomorrow after we’ve checked into the hotel, then.” he says instead. “Sleep well!” “And you. You’ve had a day to remember.” Jos says sincerely.

A few seconds of silence while Joe tries to decide if he should give Jos a hug. _No. Not today._

Basking in a lasting pleasant glow, goosebumps all over his body, Joe gets back to his room, gives his teeth a brush and climbs into bed. It might be all he ever gets to have. But he does not care. Not today.

_That was a thoroughly brilliant day._

 

A week later.

The first day of the third test has not gone as well as Joe hoped, a change in the West Indies bowling tactics leaving even experienced batsmen like Ian floundering.

Jonathan, out for yet another duck, is approaching the end of his international career. Everyone knows it, including Jonathan himself. Mindful of his personal struggles, his teammates have been extra supportive to him, tried to give him as much space as he needed to process the result.

After a while, however, Jonathan had gotten over the worst of it. And joined them on the balcony. “Whatever else happens, I want to see that. I really do.” he said to Ian who gave him a hug. “We all do, Trotty. We all do.” Ian smiled and handed Jonathan a banana.

The balcony is full. Unusual on a first day. Even Peter and the coaches have ended their chat, lean forward on their chairs, not wanting to move or “disturb the air” as Matt always used to call it.

 _They don’t call them the nervous nineties for nothing,_ Joe thinks and clenches his fist. _I really should be out there with you. I’d know what to … but that’s unfair on Jos. Sorry about that._

_Ninety-nine. One run to go. And I know how much that will mean to him._

_In fact,_ Joe remembers while the bowlers change ends and West Indies tweak their fielding set-up, _in fact it was me who planted the idea in his head at lunch._ _I have no idea where it came from. I just had a feeling. I’ve been watching him for such a long time, I know when he’s having a good day._

“Today is the day.” Joe said with his arm around Ali’s shoulders. Ali simply smiled. “Thanks for keeping the faith, Joey. Still a long way to go.”

_I may have called it._

Joe meets Ali’s eyes. And gives him a little nod.

The noise from the stands swells as Shannon Gabriel runs in. “That’s going for his pads, that’s…” The subsequent emotional “YES!” from their captain is loud enough to carry to the balcony. Who, as one, jump from their seats, cheer and applaud.

 _I called it._ To his surprise, Joe feels himself well up. _Finally, Ali._

Out in the middle, Jos wraps his arms around his captain. “It’s okay.” he says softly as he hears Ali choke back tears. “It’s okay. You’re back.”

Ali simply squeezes his shoulders. Looks up at the sky, touches his ear, hopes his old friend was watching from above. Adjusts his helmet, takes a glance at the balcony.

A beaming smile from Jimmy is enough to make his heart skip a beat.

And … _did he just wipe his eyes?_ Ali wonders, touched. _Joey. You surprise me every day._

When Ali does finally lose his wicket, he is treated to a hero’s welcome. “That’s the Cooky we remember!” Jonathan says and gives him a hug. “Beautiful shot.” Ian hands Ali a chocolate bar. “Great to see you waving your helmet again, skip.” he adds with a telling smile.

And for the last few overs of the day, Ali, still in his whites, makes himself comfortable on the balcony. Exchanges a look with Joe. That does not need words.

They never really do.

_We’ve got each other. Always._


	14. Churros con chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: you may want to read chapter 14 in "The Way you look tonight" in tandem with this one.
> 
> Spain, 2015.  
> An intense training weekend under the Spanish sun provides Jos with ample opportunities to... spend time with Joe.  
> Not to flirt, that is. Because he is too sensible to flirt with someone who may not be interested in him at all.  
> Until a Spanish dessert almost becomes a catalyst for something.  
> That is, in case it really is ... something.

“One more?” The voice has an almost petulant tone to it.

“Okay, Broady.” Jos laughs softly and adjusts his stance. Takes his usual five seconds to settle down, tells himself to be “ready for everything.”

And fixes his eyes on the lanky blonde bowler sprinting in from the other end of the net. _Got it._ A low reverse-sweep, as beautiful as he hardly ever hits them. “I … fuck’s sake, that was a tough one.” he laughs, scrambling back to his feet and holding his left hand out for a high-five. “Never seen you bowl like this before. I like it though. Where’s it coming from?” he asks interestedly. “Do you really need to ask?” Stuart smiles and high-fives Jos. “You’re not in bad shape yourself.”

“Right, lads, let’s get you out of the sun before it’s too warm.  We meet again at 2 pm. And Jos?” “Yes, Trevor?” Jos turns around to face their Australian coach, carrying the box that contains their collection of balls for training. “I’m going to need you as my assistant this afternoon.”

 _Brilliant._ Jos almost rubs his hands excitedly. _I may be the only one among us who’s looking forward to this training session, though._ “Figured as much.” he says and smiles at Trevor. Who gives him a thumbs-up and beckons Ian, Mo and Finny to him. “I just saw something I wanted to ask you about, boys.”

 

 _And where’s …_ Once again, Jos silently thanks his dad for the fielding sunglasses that have been his constant companion for almost two years. The best way to see everything on the field – and hide his eyes at the same time. _Because I don’t want anyone to see what I’m looking at._

 _Or rather, who._ A pleasant shiver runs down his neck as he spots Joe two nets down, fiddling with the zipper on his kitbag (did he really take out all seven of his bats to an ordinary nets session? Going by the size of his bag, he must have). _He does look extra cute this morning. Must have spent a few hours out in the sun since we arrived, this beginning of a tan that he’s getting is …_

An idea hits him. An excellent one. Coming across as totally innocent, but the perfect excuse.

 

Stopping himself short from whistling (because that would really alert the rest of the lads), Jos crosses the training ground and catches Joe’s eyes. “Starving. You too?” The single most lovely of surprised smiles greets his question. “Of course.” Joe grins and tries to lift his kitbag. “I really should stop tinkering so much. I forgot how heavy this stuff gets when you’ve been dodging off break balls for two hours.” he laughs and shrugs. “But then again, old habits die … what are you doing?” Joe stares at Jos as he finds one of the bag’s handles being taken out of his right hand.

“Just being nice.” Jos smiles and ignores the tiny fireworks shooting up his arm.

“Very nice indeed, I owe you one, Josh.” Joe grins and giggles as he sees Jos’ “annoyed” expression. “It’s the sun, don’t worry. My brain’s nearly fried.”

_Not only yours. I’ve … well I never thought this was going to happen again. Not after Craig. But the truth is (not that you will ever find that out, not if I can avoid it) – I’ve got it. Quite bad._

They follow Mo and Ian back down a gravel path severely lacking in trees to the car park. Unusually, Joe is quiet, only sneaks a few glances across the really rather heavy kitbag. And quickly turns his eyes away when he notices Jos watching him. Occasionally laughs at something Mo says.

As for Jos, it currently takes all his willpower to think of something different. Like a filet of grilled fish or some of these excellent shrimps they had for dinner the night before. Because, as much as he tries to avoid it, his mind keeps re-playing the dream he had when he eventually managed to fall asleep far after midnight (he never sleeps well, the first night he spends in a new bed. Too many unfamiliar sounds and smells to distract him).

_We were sitting on the beach, just the two of us. It was one of those clear and balmy summer nights and he was pointing out stars. Tried to tell me what figures he could see up there. With that adorable giggle of his. The one he always gets when he thinks he’s on to something._

_And then … he turned and looked at me. And I saw his eyes flicker down to my lips. And I..._

_Of course, that was_ _the exact_ bloody _moment my alarm had to ring._

Jos sighs quietly. Not a good sign, when he dreams of actually kissing Joe. Who, as far as Jos knows, may not even be interested.

 _Maybe not interested in ME, that is._ Unbidden, his mind recalls something else. Something he really should not even begin to think about unless he wants to end in another anxiety spiral (and it has been more than a year since his last bad patch, best not risk it this close to the beginning of the Ashes). _Besides, I’m definitely overthinking. Because if that – whatever it is that’s between them – actually is something, they would have acted on it by now._

_Or maybe, you idiot, they are just close friends._

A rolled-up sock (what else) narrowly misses his nose. “Oi, someone up there?” Joe giggles. “Depends.” Jos smiles and hopes Joe did not notice how squeaky his voice sounds. “On what?” Joe cocks an eyebrow and grins at him (which, unfortunately, lights up Jos’ entire face).

“On how fast you make it back to the hotel, I’m starving. Broady made me run for miles.” Jos complains and opens the boot of their rental car (maybe it was his good luck-charm, starting to work after nine months in his wallet, maybe it was someone in the support staff who was simply being nice, but Jos is definitely enjoying the fact that he is sharing a car with Joe on this weekend in Andalusia). Gently puts Joe’s kitbag in first. Which earns him something odd that could almost be a pat on the shoulder.

“At least you know how to treat my stuff.” Joe says with an appreciative nod. “Great minds and…” his ears turn pink. “Anyway, let’s go. Ali’s gonna kill me if I let you die of starvation.” he adds in an amused tone and grabs the car keys.

_Ali. I don’t think you noticed that smile you just had, Joe. I…_

_Stop it, Joseph, you don’t have any evidence for that and you don’t want to go down that road._

They drive off, Jos letting his right arm lean out of the rolled-down car window. Enjoy the pleasant warm wind coming from the sea, listen to the myriads of noises drifting upwards from the small port next to their hotel. Point out boats on the horizon to each other.

Oblivious to the fact that someone, following them back to the car park at a safe distance, was watching them. And began to come to a very interesting conclusion. _If it is what I think it is … I should ask him tomorrow morning. At six-thirty. Provided he wants to talk about it, that is._

Back at the hotel, Joe makes sure their slightly battered Mercedes (which does earn you bragging rights, even if the car you’re driving looks like it could be as old as you) is parked in a spot completely in the shade. “Otherwise we’ll get a free sauna session before catching practice,” he laughs and Jos laughs with him. “I’m gonna get a quick shower-“ there is a fresh pink colour on Joe’s ears – “and I’ll see you downstairs?” Jos asks. “I’ll …,” Joe is briefly lost for words. “Right. I’ll save you a seat and …” The lift arrives with yet another “bing”.

“Oi, lads, wait a second!” Mark shouts from the entrance and comes sprinting across the lobby, followed (as usual) by Ben, Mo and Adil. “You don’t honestly think you’re gonna fit in there with us?” Joe grumbles, but his annoyance only lasts about five seconds.

 

And neither, for that fact, does the comment Jos was about to make.

Because the tiny lift dragging them upstairs to the fourth floor and their rooms may be filled to the brink with six kitbags and their respective owners.

But, as luck would have it (now that really must be due to his good luck-charm, safe inside his wallet on top of his kit), Jos finds himself flush against Joe for the entire 20 seconds. Completely flush. Which makes him double aware of the muscles just about building on Joe’s forearms, of the scent of his new aftershave, the warmth from his …

 

“bing.” The lift doors open again and Adil nearly falls out backwards. “Sorry, lads.” he laughs, and Mo helps him to get back up. “Guess we know six people is the absolute maximum capacity.” “Right,” Ben stretches. “Let’s never do that again and … they should really turn the air condition down a bit, you look like you’re freezing, Jos.”

_Shit, they must have seen the goose bumps on my arms. And not freezing. Quite the opposite._

Jos hopes nobody comments on the blush he can feel settling on his cheeks and shrugs. “Nothing a good shower can’t solve. See you downstairs.” “Looking forward to some more of those gambas!” Mark says delightedly and runs off to catch up with Ben.

 

The shower, to Jos’ relief, does its job quite well.

Washes away the rest of the completely inappropriate thoughts he just had. Hungry, he quickly throws on a clean pair of training shorts and a shirt and leaves the room. Forces himself to stop dwelling on that expression on Joe’s face as their eyes met fifteen minutes earlier. W _as he … no. He was NOT giving me a once-over._

_Oh well, something else to report to Tregs tonight._

Jos has no idea how it happened, but he found himself confessing everything to his best friend when Tregs visited him the weekend before they were due to leave for Spain.

Tregs, as usual, listened for half an hour, was Jos’ shoulder to lean on while Jos spelled out all his anxieties. Calmed Jos down as only he could.

And offered to be there if Jos needed to stop himself from doing something he would regret. _Although he probably believes I don’t have anything to worry about. He always was a hopeless romantic, our Pedro._

Lunch drags on a bit more than Jos initially thought it would, nobody particularly keen to go out into the oppressive Spanish afternoon heat. Only the prospect of getting his keeping gloves out of his bag, breaking the new ones in that Tregs got him as a pre-Ashes good luck – present, convinces Jos to slap on fresh sunscreen and wait for Joe to bring the car keys back down again. _I’d really rather have a nap. But … well, later. Because I’ve got some fresh images in my mind._

Grinning, Jos catches the keys with one hand. And ( _there’s another one for my private collection_ ) loses himself in Joe’s shining blue eyes for a second. “What are you grinning about?” Joe tilts his head to his left and opens the passenger door. “Mo say something funny?”

“Not since this morning anyway,” Jos replies and they laugh again. “Oh well, let’s do this.” Joe turns down the windows. “I’m quite curious what Trev actually meant, that drawing he showed Ali and me this morning made no sense at all.”

“Now who’s bragging about being vice-captain.” Jos leans across to give Joe a little shove with the hand. Wonders if it was wishful thinking, but he is quite sure he could feel goose bumps under his fingers. “I’m not. No too much, I hope anyway. Just … tell me in case I am.” “You have my word.” Jos smiles and starts the car.

 

Relentless does not even begin to cover it. For three hours, they throw themselves around on the training ground, stop every so often to listen to Farbs’ and Trev’s observations and have a much-needed drink. But, eventually, Jos thinks while he gets himself into position for the 26th time, something seems to begin to click. _And I need all of them to step their game up. I can’t catch everything for them._

 _Thinking like a seasoned professional,_ he hears Marcus say at the back of his mind and smiles. _I need to surprise him with a postcard. It’s been a while and I did promise._

“Right,” Farbs shouts after an hour. “Last round and then we’re done for the day. Jimmy and Stuart, you bowl one to everyone. Take turns. Lads, try to remember what Trevor and I told you. Easy catches. No acrobatics – “Ben catches Farbs’ eye and laughs – “please. I don’t want you to over-exert yourselves or get injured.”

 _Okay. I’ve got this._ Jos adjusts the straps on his gloves and watches the rest of his field ( _when you start to think of it as your field, that’s when you’re in the right frame of mind, as Matty always says_ ) sort themselves out. Gets a wink from third slip that nearly throws him off balance.

_Not now, you idiot._

_What are you gonna do this time, Jim?_

Jos knows it a split-second before he plucks the red leather cherry out of the air behind him. Knows this was an … “absolute blinder!” Joe shouts from third slip, rubbing his hands excitedly and smiling in a way that turns the heat on the training ground up even further. For Jos, that is.

 “Catch, mate.” Jimmy pats Jos’ back as he walks back, nods appreciatively. _Thanks for that, Jim. Nearly had me._ “Thanks.” Jos replies and hopes Jimmy does not notice his voice sounded a little hoarse. “Stu, what are you gonna do next?” he says while he takes his gloves off and makes his way to the shade.

“You know he can’t hear you.” Jimmy laughs.

 

Barely twenty seconds later, a chorus of sympathetic groans and a few soft comments of “shit” rings around the training ground. A steep bouncer from Stuart hits Ali square between the legs. Making everyone wince. And … _Joe? Are you really giggling about this? You cheeky little shit._

While Jimmy helps a slightly wobbly Alastair back onto his feet and towards the benches, Jos helps Phil, their physiotherapist, find a suitably fresh icepack to hand to their captain. Discreetly keeps an eye on Jimmy and his best friend. And notices something interesting. _Was it… is there something? That was an unusually soft tone Jimmy just had. And I think I saw him sneak a glance when he turned back. I … now that would be quite something. If those two … or at least Jimmy …_

For the rest of the training session, Jos does not pay attention to events on the field but follows the thought further. Tries to recall similar incidents in the past. And wonders. Does not stop wondering.

“Oi, you coming to the pool with us?” Mark asks, dragging Jos from his reverie. “Depends. Who’s us?” Jos replies and stretches. “Me, Ben, Stuart, Jimmy, Cooky if he wants to, and Joe.” Mark winks at him. “Come on, Jossy, we earned that.” Joe pulls such a comical face at Jos that Jos laughs. “I’m in.”

 

This time, Joe breaks his speed record on the way back to the hotel.

Which is probably just as well. Because Jos spends the next fifteen minutes trying on all three of his bathing trunks, unable to decide if he should pick something a little tighter or something that sits more comfortably.

In the end, he puts his first choice back on, takes one of the hotel towels from the rack in the bathroom and slips on sandals. Takes a deep breath before he leaves his room. _No staring, no accidental touching and definitely no attempts to turn this into something. Are we clear, Joseph?_

 _I’ve got this under control,_ the reasonable part of his brain assures him.

 

Until he actually sees Joe in the pool, chasing after Mark with a big yellow ball in his hands. And hears him giggle in delight. And sees the water clinging to Joe’s frame, emphasising his … _Abort mission. We’re not staring at him. I repeat, we’re not staring at him._

A pleasant warm shiver runs down Jos’ spine.

“In with you, Jos!” Ben shouts and makes a gesture clearly meant “I’ll throw you in myself.”

Jos laughs (slightly awkwardly), takes off his sandals and jumps into the pool.

 

It is exactly the chaos Jos predicted it would be. While they dodge throws and try to sneak up on others, splashing them with as much cold water as they can gather, a giddy mood takes hold of everyone playing in the pool (and even of the few onlookers on the deckchairs around them). _Just as well. We need that ahead of this massive series._

_I … what’s Joe whispering with Cooky about? Not that I’ve been into gossip, in fact I don’t want to know if it’s something unpleasant … but I kind of want to find out._

Quietly, Jos sneaks up on them.

“I’m starting to get cold.” he says and Joe’s ears turn a dark shade of pink ( _why_?). “Me too,” he retorts in an unusually squeaky tone. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

 _This went well,_ Jos grins to himself and climbs out of the pool. In search of two empty deckchairs.

Just two minutes later, Joe follows him with a sheepish expression on his face. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” he smiles and dries himself off with a towel. Plonks himself into the chair to Jos’ left, meets his eyes. “That was brilliant, eh?”

“Oh yes. When Mark jumped Jimmy… comedy gold.” They laugh together. Which warms Jos up more than any towel or even the heat of the sun could.

And do not see someone in the pool watching them behind his sunglasses. And smiling to himself. _Okay. Now I know. I was right._

 

“So what do you think is gonna happen at this “team evening” of Straussy’s?” Joe asks, resting his chin in his right hand and turning to face Jos. “I…,” Jos loses track of what he was originally trying to say. “No idea. Could be anything.” Joe continues, uninterrupted. “As long as it isn’t too embarrassing. But Straussy isn’t one for embarrassing stuff. Freddie Flintoff was his polar opposite in that aspect. According to Ali anyway. And what I’ve seen from him in the County championship.”

“Sounds about right. I … think I know though. We’ve done this in the Somerset First XI. In my first year. Marcus thought we’d be better off as a team if we went skiing for a weekend. On the first night, he had us all gather in the living room in this hut we rented over in the Alps. Lovely little village in Styria, I forgot the name to be honest. Anyway, he told us he wanted us to come up with something none of our teammates had ever heard us talk about or seen us do before. To “get to know new sides of each other.” And what can I say, it was the most fun evening of that month.” Jos smiles reminiscently. “And what did you do?” Joe’s voice sounds oddly soft, again. Endearingly so. “I won’t tell you.” Jos grins. “In case this is about to happen tonight.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. I have an idea what I would do.” Joe rubs his hands and lies back on his chair. Closes his eyes. And enjoys the warmth of the sun.

Jos follows suit (not without, surreptitiously, inching his chair just a fraction closer to Joe’s).

Silence falls. Just as well. Jos needed some time to calm himself down.

 

“Jossy?” comes a lazy question from his left. “Know what I’d really like to do?”

 _You … No. No, fuck’s sake. Not like that._ “Hm?” Jos replies and yawns.

“I’d love to get churros con chocolate this weekend. Ever heard of ‘em?” Jos knows Joe is grinning without having to open his eyes. Feeling warm all over his body, he laughs. “Of course. Those tasty and absolutely unhealthy fried sweet pastry things that they dump in hot chocolate. Had them ages ago with my parents. But … do you think we can sneak off and get some?” Jos replies.

“We have to. Vice-captain – privileges.” Joe says smugly.

“Churros con chocolate?” a voice asks above Jos’ head.

_Woakesy, I like you, but you are interfering right now._

“Don’t mind us,” Joe says and sounds mildly annoyed (why?). “We’re just fantasising.”

Chris laughs. “But I saw a small bar in the port with a sign that said they sell them. When I went cycling with Mark and Finny last night.”

Joe sits up straight and his eyes fly open. “Do you remember where that was?” he says excitedly. “Absolutely. Not that hard to miss.” Chris smiles at them. “So, you in? Mark and Finny say they’d love to come too.” “When do we meet?” “Tomorrow, nineish? We won’t be back at the ground before eleven. And there’s enough bikes for all of us.”

“We have a deal,” Joe shakes Chris’ hand. “You in, Jossy?”

“What else.” Jos smiles. “But not a word to Cooky. Until we’re back.”

“Fine.” Joe lies back again. “Don’t wake me up for the next fifteen minutes or there will be consequences.”

A soft snore. As usual, Joe has fallen asleep within seconds. To Jos’ delight. Giving him some time to watch Joe, uninterrupted. _There is something so loveable about him when he’s asleep. He never once stops smiling._

 _Like I said,_ the reasonable part of his mind reminds him, _we’re enjoying our fantasies and that’s it._

_I know, fuck’s sake. Let me have this one, please._

When Jos finally makes himself comfortable in his own bed, after double-checking he has set his alarm for 7:45, there is an entire new set of moments to re-play in his mind’s eye. The team evening turned out to be exactly as he predicted. And even better than that. Cooky sang – a capella, something nobody had heard from him before in a good five years (and the song seemed to bring an odd shine to Jimmy’s eyes). Stuart’s Alan Partridge impression had everyone in hysterics, Straussy first and foremost. Ben showed them a few acrobatic tricks. Finny revealed that he had been teaching himself how to juggle and – to an ecstatic round of applause – proceeded to hold six balls aloft at the same time.

_And Joe played his guitar. As I knew he would from the moment Straussy told us the rules._

_Only …_ , Jos wells up slightly, _only I never heard him sing before._

_And holy … hell, he does have the most beautiful of voices._

Jos closes his eyes and feels his heart pound. Does not even stop to wonder who Joe meant with “that special someone” that he dedicated the second song to.

Only sees Joe’s smile while he lost himself completely in the music. And hears his voice again.

_That was unbelievably special. I know what I’m gonna dream of tonight._

_At least we’ve got those little moments._

The following morning, Mark sends a text to Jos, Joe, Chris and Finny while they are finishing breakfast. **Don’t want to attract any attention, so I’m doing this on here. Just FYI, bikes have been secured. See you outdoors in 15.**

Stifling a giggle, Jos hurries upstairs to change into his training shorts.

“And you really know where to go, Woakesy?” Finny asks while he mounts his bike. “Absolutely. I did take a photo of the bar just in case.” Chris hands his phone to him. “There – Los Diamantes. That’s the place.” “Can’t wait.” Joe laughs excitedly. “I only had a bit of fruit to leave me some room.”

 

They set off down the hill and reach the outskirts of the small Spanish port after just ten minutes. “Need to turn right here and then take the third on the left. It’s directly on the seashore.” Chris explains and gets off his bike. “No point in riding on these cobblestones.”

Jos reminds himself to breathe deeply while he follows Chris past whitewashed Andalusian houses with colourful flowers and a few – enviable – lemon and orange trees. Enjoys the smell of the salty air. _And the view right in front of me. I …_

“There you are, lads,” Chris stops in front of a small red door and a set of black tables underneath an umbrella. “That’s it.” “You, Woakesy, are a life-saver.” Mark pats Chris on the back. “Do you want me to go and order?” “I … how many are we getting?” Chris asks in return. “I think we should be okay if we split three portions. They do serve them in huge sizes.” Jos recalls. “Smart. One’s three euros.” Chris smiles and holds out a hand. “I’ll order, my Spanish is good enough for…”

Jos opens his wallet to hand some coins over to Chris.

Who, for an odd moment or two, falls completely silent. Just looks at Jos. And then, for a reason Jos can not figure out, at his wallet. And back at Jos again.

“Woakesy? You okay?” Finny grins.

“I … never mind. Sorry. That’s three euros, thanks Jos.” There is an odd tone in Chris’ voice. But his face, set into his habitual smile, is hard, if not impossible to read.

 

Giddy as teenagers doing something slightly inappropriate, Jos and his friends share the really quite hot pastry and chocolate. Laugh every now and then as they try to imagine their captain’s face when he could see them now. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll sort this out with him.” Joe says elegantly. “He does listen to me after all.” “That’s why it’s worth to include the vice-captain in these plans.” Mark grins. “And Cooky does have a bit of a sweet tooth, so he may end up getting a portion for himself.” Chris points out. “Okay, we should head back though. Or we’ll make them suspicious.”

“I’ll just wash my hands, be right back.” Finny says and Mark follows him into the bar.

Chris’ phone rings and he looks at Joe. “Sorry, lads, it’s my little sister, she’s had her driving test this morning.” he excuses himself and turns a corner to pick up his phone.

 

Only Joe and Jos remain standing in front of the bar, looking out at the fishing boats heading to the sea or returning with nets full of fresh fish. _And he’s barely a foot away from me,_ Jos realises with an acute intensity that makes his heart pound yet again. _What is he …_ Joe’s arm brushes against his.

“Smells nice.” Joe says quietly. “What?” Jos replies in an equally quiet tone. “Your sunscreen… and the fish, and the sea and something else entirely.” Joe giggles.

_You are so unbelievably cute when you laugh._

Jos dares to step closer. Leans against Joe’s arm. Takes a proper look at him.

“Joe?” He barely stifles a laugh.

“Hm?” Joe replies.

“You’ve got chocolate on your nose.”

“Thanks.” Joe blushes. “That would be a dead give-away. I … what are you doing?”

 _I don’t know either,_ Jos thinks. Looks for a tissue in his shorts pockets but does not find any. Almost watches himself lift his hand to Joe’s face, looking even better with a shade of pink on his cheeks.

Joe stops smiling. Looks at him.

Jos returns his look. Hardly dares to breathe. Wipes the speck of chocolate from Joe’s nose with unsteady fingers. Wonders if anyone can hear his heart race because he definitely can.

Joe takes another step in his direction. Only inches separate them now.

And Jos still does not want to take his hand away. “I…” he whispers.

 

“Off with us, lads! Or we’re in for a Cooky bollocking!” Finny shouts from the entrance.

_Steven Finn, you idiot._


	15. An actual good luck-charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cardiff, July 11, 2015.  
> Victory in the first Ashes test, dinner at a pub on Cardiff Bay ... and in the end, a slow burning fire bursts into flames.  
> All I can say is: Have fun with this chapter. :)

“I thought Joe Root was excellent.”

_Oh great, I’m blushing. The last thing I needed today._

Joe bites his lower lip and looks straight ahead. Not unsuspicious enough, unfortunately. A hand pounds his back – probably Gary – and there are a few shouts of “wahey!” and “told you so!” behind him. And a definitely Lancastrian grumble of “what else is he gonna say.”

_He’s jealous. He really is jealous and there’s absolutely no reason for that._

For once, Joe is glad for the noise around him. Because he knows that the giggle that just escaped him was very telling  (and earns him a wink from Stuart, followed by his bowler friend raising a finger to his lips). _It’s not time for that. Yet._

_Not while I’ve got some unfinished business of my own._

And now his heart is racing again.

 

While the spectators, having quite audibly one of “those” days at the cricket – well, the weather is excellent – applaud both captains off the pitch, Joe tries his best to calm himself. Maybe he actually misread everything. Maybe he tried too hard to see something that was never there to begin with. Maybe he should just give it up, enjoy the day, enjoy the fact they are 1-0 up in the most important Test series there is and shove his worries to one side.

Because maybe, if he is wrong, this could all come crashing down to earth. And he could not just end up utterly humiliated but losing one of his best friends in the process. If he is not careful.

And Joe does tend to put his foot in his mouth. Sometimes. When something is important to him.

_And what’s more important than this? I should just give it a try._

_On the other hand, do I really…? In the middle of the Ashes? What happens if he … and we … and I … I mean, I need to think about the lads as well. They need me at my best._

_Not distracted by stupid romantic problems._

_Joseph Edward Root, pull yourself together this very instant. Or …_

 

Someone hugs Joe from behind. The sound of quiet laughter in his right ear (and the very familiar warmth of a certain pair of arms around his waist) gives his “assailant” away immediately.

“Ali.” Joe giggles, twists around and turns their half-hug into a proper embrace. “I … you meant that, didn’t you?” he adds a little shyly. “Fuckssake, Joe, of course he did.” Joe can not see Jimmy, but knows he is rolling his eyes at him. “You were magnificent. Ever thought you want to play as an all-rounder?” Jimmy adds in a slightly less annoyed tone than before.

“Nah, I enjoy batting too much.” Joe says as casually as he hoped he would be able to. “Either way, that’s what I expect from my vice-captain.” Ali smiles and squeezes Joe’s shoulders. Turns around and looks at the rest of his team, lounging on chairs or on the floor, enjoying the summer sunshine. “Lads, I already said everything I wanted to say.” Which earns him a cheer from Ben and Jonny. “Behave, you two.” Joe deadpans and everyone laughs. “Okay, boss.” Jonny blows Joe a kiss.

“I’ll never get you to behave for more than three minutes, right?” Ali sighs – not convincing everyone because of the quietly satisfied smile spreading across his face at the same time. “And I was about to tell you that you’ve got the rest of the night off. Just a few rules – make sure you actually eat something, do not do anything stupid when you see Pup or his boys, be back at the hotel by 1:30 am at the absolute latest or you are going to be watching the Lord’s test from the balcony …,” Ali pauses, “and NO cups filled with water outside of any of our rooms, is that clear, Mark?”

At which point, the balcony dissolves into another round of giggles.

Ian hands Ali a beer and Ali takes his shoes off. Leans against the wall. “Cheers, lads.”

“To you, oh captain, my captain.” Ian salutes.

 

Joe – partly out of habit, partly because he knows he can not, under any circumstances, risk to be any closer to Jos than he has to – sidles up to him. “That went well.” he smiles. “Understatement, Joey.” Ali chuckles and puts an arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Cheers.”

They both take a sip from their cans. “It does taste a million times nicer today, doesn’t it?” Joe – mindful of the fact the rest of the lads are watching – only leans slightly against Ali. “Yep. And I don’t even mind the press stuff as much. Any plans for the rest of the night?” Ali asks.

For a moment, Joe thought he could see Ali blush a tiny bit. Which could be for a number of reasons, and anyway that is stuff they best discuss out on one of their usual runs, so Joe lets it slide.

“Now you mention it, I could murder a pair of sausages. I’ve had this image at the back of my head for the last three overs. Some nice sausages, a bit of mashed potatoes – and a pint. Or three. At the most.” Joe laughs. “Good boy.” Ali can not resist replying. “Oi, it’s bad enough that Jim keeps calling me puppy, don’t you start as well.” Joe complains.

Ali gives him an affectionate push. “Okay, sorry. Either way, I would not say no to a proper pub tonight. Let’s go to Cardiff Bay once we’re done here.” he says and takes his cap off. “But I definitely need to wash my hair.” “Me too. Helmet hair and all that. So…” Joe looks at Ali, “how many of the lads can you tolerate tonight?”

The smile that comment earns him warms Joe up. Plain and simple. _You read my mind. You absolutely did. Because I do not need to explain myself around you. And that is worth a heck of a lot._

“I … trust your judgement. But no more than six. Otherwise...” Joe cuts Ali off. “I get it. I … oi, Stu, you joining us for dinner?” he calls behind Stuart who is about to head to the shower. “Absolutely. Where are you off to?” Stuart replies, stopping in the doorway.

“General direction of Cardiff Bay.” Joe says airily.

“Fine with me. Jim?” Stuart looks for his best friend and finds him – as usual, he thinks with a smile – deep in a chat with Finny and Mark. “No, you can’t have my shower gel, use your own.” Jimmy says without turning around.

“I did bring mine today, but thanks for being so generous, James.” Stuart laughs. “Was just asking if you want to go out with Joe and me …,” there is a pause only Joe recognises as deliberate, “and Ali. Tonight.” “We’re going to a pub or something?” Jimmy still has not moved. “Okay, I’m in.” he eventually says and turns back to Mark. “So, what I was trying to say is, when you want to do an outswinger, you hold your fingers like …”

 

_Brilliant. Now all I need for this evening to be really brilliant is …_

A shiver runs down Joe’s spine.

Fingers – as warm as they can be after a session in keeping gloves – brush past the soft blonde hairs on the back on his neck and Joe _feels_ (as in, every inch of his body) two silver grey eyes look at him from somewhere behind his left ear.

“You were magnificent,” the most beautiful voice Joe knows says softly. Chuckles.

_Oh Jos, you should not do this out in the open. I … well … here there be butterflies. Again._

“Thanks,” (why did I sound like my voice has not broken yet, fuck. Keep breathing, Joe.), “mate. So …” Joe fights to find the right words, “I … I mean I was gonna ask you something and I … you…”

“Of course I’m coming to Cardiff Bay with you.” There is an odd shine in Jos’ eyes (oh those eyes) as he laughs. “When do you want to meet?”

“Let’s do …” Joe looks at his watch and wills his brain to operate at full capacity again (which takes a considerable effort, seeing as he is all too aware of how _close_ they are standing to each other), “let’s say around eight.” he says eventually.

“Right. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a decent meal on the bay, keeping does make me hungry.” Jos smiles and catches a piece of chocolate Mo throws to him. “That smells nice, Mo, where did you get it?”

“I have my secrets,” Mo laughs.

 

_I should toss a coin or something. Or I will never be able to decide what to do._

Press duties, shower, post-match chat with a satisfied Paul and Trev and even a few niceties with the Australians (Dave still avoids Joe’s eyes, as he should do, considering their last embarrassing run-in in Sydney) out of the way, Joe even has a little nap on the team bus.

A nap he apparently needed. Only thanks to Chris, being as helpful as usual, he manages to wake up in time, everyone having left the bus a while ago.

“Mind joining me and the lads for a pie and some pints? We’re off to Cardiff Bay at eight.” Joe says gratefully while Chris hands him his backpack from the overhead compartment. “Sounds good. Wouldn’t mind having a cheese and leek pie, they are excellent here.” Chris smiles and Joe smiles back at him. “And …,” but Chris stops himself. Swallows a laugh.

“Never mind, I don’t know what I was going to say either. See you at eight.” he shrugs and waves. Hurries after Mark who has come to look for him. “Sorry, someone needed to wake Joe up!”

 

Joe chooses not to dwell on Chris’ odd tone and the laugh he could hear.

Could not, not even if he wanted to.

As soon as he is back in his room, the issue – it is not a problem unless you make it into one, as Billy always says – that he has been trying to avoid for the first part of the evening takes centre stage again.

_If there ever was a night to find out, it’s tonight._

_But there’s six of us and you’re gonna need a ride back to the hotel, you don’t want to walk._

_Also, do you want the lads to know? Tonight? I mean, not that they would mind or anything, it’s my best friends in the team after all. But …_

_Oh Jesus, I’ll never be able to do this. I worked myself up way too much for it._

_Let’s just try to enjoy tonight, shall we?_

Joe looks at his reflection in the mirror. And grins, satisfied.

There is a not entirely unattractive faint tan on his face (mostly thanks to that last day in Spain and the five hours he spent with Ali on the golf course), bringing out his eye colour. _That settles it, I need to wear something red tonight. And my jeans jacket, of course._

_Because Jos said he likes my jeans jacket._

Joe watches the blush settle on his cheeks.

Whatever Jos thinks or does not think of him (unbidden, that moment in front of the tiny bar in Andalucía comes back to him), that was a genuine compliment. The first of many, in fact. For some reason, Jos has not held back at all since Joe’s 24th birthday party. And they were not even limited to his batting.

_And I will remember every single one of them._

Joe gets dressed and looks back into the mirror. Lets out a long breath. “I’ve got this. Whatever happens.” he says and clenches his left hand into a fist.

_I’ve got this. I’ll be fine. It’s just a fun evening after a well-deserved test victory._

_Until …_ It is not.

Once again, the mere sight of Jos, looking effortlessly handsome in an unusually low-cut white shirt and jeans, is enough to turn Joe into a puddle. Makes him blush fiercely, makes his heart pound up to his ears. _Fuck’s sake. I think even Ali saw that._

“Hey, you actually brought the jacket,” Jos says in Joe’s direction. Smiles ( _never stop smiling, please_ ).

“What else.” Joe tries to sound normal, but it comes out as a strangled squeak. “It is …,” he continues after he has coughed to clear his throat, “It is the perfect weather for a jeans jacket after all.”

“You don’t say.” Stuart laughs. “But it does suit you, Joe.”

“Thanks mate. Are we ready? I’m hungry.”

Footsteps hurry down the staircase behind them. “Sorry lads, sorry, my parents rang and you know what they’re like,” a smiling Brummie voice apologises. “Of course, not a problem, Woakesy,” Jimmy ruffles Chris’ hair once Chris has caught up with them. “Does mean you’re buying the first round, though.”

“Fine.” Once again, for a second at most, Joe wonders why Chris sounds so oddly satisfied.

 

A dark blue bus saying “6: Cardiff Bay – Bae Caerdydd” just stops across the road from their hotel once Chris has closed the door behind them. “Perfect timing.” Ali laughs and sprints to the bus stop. “Hurry up lads, they do have a schedule to uphold as well!”

They scramble inside, Joe – quite happily – finds himself right next to Jos. Close enough to get a sniff of his really pleasant perfume.

While the bus takes them among many high-rise buildings (more hotels?), past a theatre and a few roads full off identical looking small houses with gardens, Joe tries not to breathe in too deeply. _You’re gonna need your wits about you tonight._

 

Night is beginning to settle over the harbour as Joe and his friends leave the bus. And spend a while admiring their surroundings – a red brick building that maybe used to be the custom house, a few very modern looking glass houses around it  (“I think that’s the Welsh parliament”, Stuart says) and something that oddly looks like one of those churches Joe’s parents took so many photos of during their cruise in Norway last year.

There is a quiet buzz around the waterfront, full of people enjoying the summer’s night, having a drink on one of the many restaurant terraces, fishing in the increasingly black sea, lounging on benches admiring the view across the bay and having quiet chats. A group of teenage girls with skateboards are daring each other to try out tricks on the steps of a building that seems to have a poem inscribed in huge  bronze letters on its front. Music blasts from a small loudspeaker as Ali leads them past.

The air is almost perfectly still and it is pleasantly warm.

“Nice place that.” Jimmy says appreciatively. “Was a good idea, Ali.”

“It was.” Stuart agrees. “Let’s try that place over there,” he adds, pointing to a square light grey building in front of them that, Joe thinks, looks like it could be part of a castle. “The Waterguard Pub. At least it isn’t a Wetherspoons, they’re everywhere in Nottingham.”

“Don’t get me started on Wetherspoons.” Chris sighs. “Lads, beware, they’re gonna own all the pubs in this country at some point.”

“Let’s continue that discussion indoors,” Ali ushers them on. “I’m hungry as well.”

 

Before Joe follows his friends into the pub, he has a quick look around the bay. Spots a deserted stone bench right across the road, looking onto the shining dark Welsh sea. _If … that’s probably the best spot._

_Oh Joseph, stop it. You are not doing anything tonight._

His stomach grumbles. _Not until you had something to eat, that is._

 _Fuck’s sake, I’m gonna give up on you,_ the rational part of his brain complains.

 

A few of their usual pub staples – nachos, a bowl of chips, another bowl of nuts (containing no pistachios, Joe triple checks just in case) – two excellent and unusually giant portions of sausages and mash (Jos stops himself from eating for a second and takes a photo that he “absolutely has to send to Tresco” – a comment that makes Jimmy laugh out loud), a steak, some pies and a bowl of ice-cream Ali insists on getting as a sort of free-for-all.

The food is worthy of a test victory against the old enemy.

When Joe says so to Ali, everyone raises their glasses to him. “Well said.” Stuart pats him on the back. “Now, what do you think this lot are doing tonight?”

“Warner’s still having a strop,” Jimmy grins. “Did not even say good night when we left.”

“As he should be.” Stuart high-fives Jimmy. “Always good to get under his skin.”

“And may this only be the beginning. Now, lads, going back to that stuff you said about Wetherspoons.”

 

The evening ambles on as easily and relaxingly as Joe hoped it would. Too relaxingly, in fact. His plans (if they could even be called plans, he has not made his mind up after all), which have been a constant source of mild panic all day, have all but disappeared from his mind, only feature as a slightly tingling background noise somewhere deep inside him (then again, he is used to butterflies, sitting next to Jos as per usual). While they play a bit of Scrabble (without the usual arguments), Joe occasionally finds himself looking across the room at Chris. Who seems to be checking his watch every so often. _Woakesy’s up to something. And I have no idea what._

“Lads?” Ali gets up and yawns. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Me too.” Jimmy – blushing faintly (Joe catches Stuart’s eyes for a fraction of a second) – joins him. “Let’s get ourselves a taxi.” “Should we…?” “No, don’t worry, Woakesy, we old folks just need more sleep than you.” Jimmy smiles. “You stay out if you want.”

“I’m coming with you.” Stuart says and retrieves their jackets from the coat rack on the wall.

“Okay lads, sleep well.” Ali smiles at everyone in turn. “You too Cookie monster.” Joe winks and everyone laughs. “That’s the best nickname of them all, Joe.” Chris pats his back.

 

Seeing as it never makes sense to play Scrabble with less than five people, Joe, Jos and Chris order another round of drinks and switch to UNO (this pub seems to have an endless supply of board games). Which ends up in a complete mess for Joe (what else did he expect, there was something warm pressing into his right thigh all game). “You’ve been a bit off, tonight,” Jos laughs.

“It was a long day. But…,” Joe hurriedly adds, “I’m far from tired. I quite fancy going for a walk outside. Still early enough.” he shoots Jos a look that was hopefully inconspicuous enough.

Again, there is a satisfied look on Chris’ face. “I’ll pay for the last round, wait for me, please.”

 

There are still a lot of night-time walkers and cyclists on the concrete paths lining the bay when Jos, Joe and Chris get out. Insects chirp and faint guitar music drifts across from one of the restaurants. Cheerful conversations, shouts and laughter ring across the harbour.

“Love it here, we should come back when we next play a test in Wales.” Chris says and checks his watch. “Let’s sit on that bench, I think the view’s quite nice.”

Joe and Jos follow him, Joe avoiding Jos’ eyes as best as he can. His heart is pounding in his ears and he feels like he could split in two any second. _I should do it. It’s the perfect night._

_But Woakesy’s still there. I don’t think he would mind, but … I want to make this special. And … fuck._

As they sit down, Joe notices faint engravings in the concrete around them. “Look, lads, that’s nice.” he says and points at them. “Seashells.” “And ferns. I should send a photo to Tim.” Chris laughs. “The kiwi lads love their ferns.” “True.” Joe laughs as well.

Together, they watch a kayaker paddling into the harbour, making it look as effortless as Joe has never seen it. “I’m gonna give it a try. Next time we’re in New Zealand.” Jos says.

“I might join you, but…” A wide yawn finishes Chris’ sentence for him. “I’m off. Getting a taxi. You’re still staying, Josephs?”

“You know you’re the only one allowed to call us that,” Joe laughs. “Yep. Need my phone?” “No thanks, mine’s just got enough battery to make a call.” Chris replies and dials the number. “I … yes, that’s right. In front of Waterguard Pub. I’m waiting on the other side of the road. How long? Okay. Four minutes, that’s brilliant. Thanks.”

He hangs up. And yawns again. And … grins. “It’s been a great evening, lads.”

“It has.” Jos gives Chris a hug. “Tell Cooky, in case he’s still up, that we’re going to catch the last bus back to town.” “Will do.”

 

Flashing lights indicate the taxi coming down the road.

Chris waves at the driver.

And turns around.

And back again. “I .. shit. Should have stopped at an ATM, I’m about ten pounds short.” he sighs. “I just hope they take debit cards or …” A grin flashes across his face. “Jos? Do you have a tenner on you?”

Jos, standing next to Joe, hesitates briefly before fishing his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

Joe leans closer. To help him see. The light from the street lamp behind them is not very bright, after all (as excuses go, this is a good one).

Jos opens the zipper. And rummages around until he finds a crisp new note. “That enough or do you need more?” he asks with a friendly smile.

_What. What on earth._

Joe’s heart stops for an instant.

_What. What WAS that._

“No thanks, that should get me back.” Chris smiles. “Night, lads.”

He puts the banknote in his pocket and waves at them.

 

Joe hears the car door close behind him.

Hears the engine start, the taxi disappear down the road.

 

All very faintly.

Behind the sound of his heart racing in his ears.

His cheeks are glowing.

He does not want to look up.

Knows Jos has taken a step in his direction.

Knows – vaguely – that they are in Wales, on the seashore, in Cardiff Harbour.

Does not know (or could not tell you, in any case) how the test match they may (or may not) have played today finished. Has no idea if he even did something to contribute to the result.

Does not care at the moment.

Can not think of anything else.

Other than one question.

One thing he just saw beneath the colourful ten-, twenty- and fifty-pound notes in Jos’ dark red wallet with the Somerset dragon on top.

Does not know if his voice will follow his commands. Does not know what to think.

“Jos?” he asks quietly. Very quietly. Wonders if Jos can hear his heart pound as well.

His entire body is shaking. _Deep breath._

“Jos, why is there a white rose petal in your wallet?”

 

Silence falls. For a while.

Joe has lost track of time. _I have screwed it up, haven’t I? That was the worst thing to … what._

A warm hand, with calluses on its index finger and ring finger (as you get from holding a bat for a long time), reaches across the barely a foot (Joe’s a mess) between them.

Takes Joe’s left hand.

And holds it.

 

“Joe.” Jos says in an unusual soft voice.

Joe looks up. Feels Jos’ hand shake.

Looks into two shining silver eyes. _You don’t … you’re not …_

“There’s a simple reason for that.” Jos continues in that same soft tone. Sounds like he is fighting against a lot of suppressed emotions. And draws an audible breath.

Keeps looking at Joe with a (gorgeous) crimson blush on his cheeks.

“That’s from one of the roses you gave me. For my birthday last year. I … I kept it as a good luck – charm ever since because I like keeping flowers as a good luck – charm… only this one means a little bit more. Just like,” Jos’ voice shakes slightly, “you … mean a little bit more. To me.”

 

_I am dreaming, right? This is a dream._

Joe simply stares at him.

“You don’t … you’re not trying to say?” he croaks eventually. Squeezes Jos’ hand without meaning to. “I mean … because … I never thought this would happen and I’ve been waiting to hear you say that since India, only you were with Craig back then so I sort of resigned myself to the fact that it would never and… but I realised … the thing is … there is a thing you need to know.” Joe swallows. _Settle down, Joseph. Settle down. It is about to happen. No time to run away now._

“The thing is,” Joe continues, shaking from head to toe, feeling tears stinging at the corners of his eyelids, “the thing is, Jos … I’m in love with you and I have been for the past two years.”

He knows Jos must have heard him exhale. Everyone could have heard him, probably.

A soft gasp.

Jos takes another step towards Joe.

A stunning smile takes over his entire face. Answering Joe’s question before he can even draw up the courage to get another word out. “Joe … I … never thought I would hear you say that,” he says and sounds like he is about to laugh with joy every second. “Because … I’m in love with you as well.”

The last part was only a whisper.

Joe blinks back a tear. Feels a tiny lightning bolt hit his face as Jos lifts his free hand towards Joe’s cheek. And begins to stroke the soft, newly shaved skin.

_Don’t cry. Not now. It would … I don’t believe it._

“Jos? Can I … I mean only if you want … can I kiss you?” Joe asks hoarsely.

“Yes.” A barely suppressed giggle. Jos wraps his arm around Joe’s waist and Joe follows suit.

Closes his eyes (finally understands why you do that). _I want to remember. Every single thing about that. For the rest of my life,_ he resolves and feels his entire body warm up.

Soft lips tenderly brush against his. Hesitantly at first.

A hand cups his face. Followed by another hand.

Joe presses himself as closely against Jos as he can, wraps both arms around him, does not care that more than a few of the people out in the harbour can see them. Could not care less. Feels a tongue tickle his lips, opens them slightly, feels himself pulled in even tighter as Jos deepens their kiss and his own tongue follows suit. Feels the soft hairs on Jos’ back, feels his heart race against Jos’ own.

An intense happiness, actual joy, explodes somewhere deep inside him. A shiver down his spine as he hears a quiet, unbelievably attractive moan (which could have been his own, come to think of it).

 

After minutes (or maybe hours?), Joe feels Jos pull back slightly.

And look at him. Look – radiant. There is no other word for it.

“You are unbelievably good at this.” Jos whispers and laughs breathlessly.

Joe giggles. Can not help himself. “And so are you.” Plants a kiss on Jos’ nose. “I … wow, this is …” “The best day ever?” Jos whispers and wraps Joe up in a fierce hug.

 

They keep holding each other for a while.

Until Joe catches sight of Jos’ beaming smile and pulls him into yet another kiss.

“I’ll never get tired of doing that.” he laughs when he looks at Jos again. “I … let’s continue. But somewhere a bit more private.” Jos winks at him and grins. “Come on, we need to catch the bus.” “And…”

 

Jos answers Joe’s question for him. Laces his fingers through Joe’s. _Does that mean…?_

 _It probably does._ Joe almost wants to jump for joy.

 

Hand in hand, they walk back to the bus stop (would have been a lot faster if Joe had not stopped every so often to look at their fingers, intertwined, and smile at the sight).

 

For the entire journey to their hotel, Jos leans into Joe’s arms. Giggles (unbelievably cute) as Joe begins to plant tiny kisses on his neck. “Not here, you’re giving me ideas,” he whispers.

“That was the plan,” Joe whispers back with a mischievous grin on his face. “Let’s … my room.”

“Fine, let’s your room.” Jos laughs and helps Joe out of the bus. “But … I want to keep this a secret. For a while at least. It’s the Ashes after all.”

 

“Who cares about the Ashes.” Joe laughs and gives Jos another kiss.

 

As far as he is concerned, he has already won his biggest victory of the series.


	16. One for all ... and all for Captain Cook!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find ourselves back in Ali's house, in September 2015, everyone processes the many revelations of the evening and a pact is made.

Night has settled over the small house on the outskirts of Chelmsford, an almost black night sky sprinkled with a few stars stretching out over the garden. Unusually visible from the living room (at some point in the middle of their story, Jimmy decided to turn down the lights a little).

It is almost completely silent except for faint music coming from the radio in Ali’s kitchen.

After taking a few deep breaths – and a sip of tea from his mug (which suddenly gives him an idea about Ali’s birthday present, even though it is still nearly three months to go) – Joe, having settled on the carpet, cross-legged as usual, looks up at his friends.

Three pairs of eyes meet his.

 

 In various stages of processing their emotions, nobody able to speak right now.

Jos, to Joe’s slight shock, looks on the verge of tears. “What’s … Jossy?” Joe whispers. Scrambles to his feet, realises (only now) his right leg was about to go dead. Furiously shakes some life back into it until the intense tingling feeling passes. Limps to the couch, takes his boyfriend’s left hand. Looks him into the eye. “Jossy. What’s up? Talk to me please.” Joe tries his best not to panic. Extends his free hand, cups Jos’ chin.

“I … I never knew you heard that. At the Marina in Southampton.” Jos’ voice is wobbling dangerously. “I … at the time I was just about getting over Craig and our relationship had been under some extra strain because we were in the same team and you know … so I genuinely thought I could protect myself if I decided not to … and you heard that and … I had no idea how much I hurt you.” He chokes himself off.

Joe wraps both arms around Jos and strokes his back. Fights back tears as well. “You didn’t mean to, I know. It’s okay, Jossy. It turned out alright in the end, eh?” he adds and can not help but laugh quietly.

Jos turns his face towards him. A beaming smile begins to spread across his features. “It did. Thank god for Woakesy. Although I have no idea how he spotted that.” he replies and sneaks an arm around Joe’s waist. Who leans back against him.

“Could have been in Spain.” Joe muses and closes his eyes for a second as Jos begins to stroke his hair. “And … lads?” It is only now he realises neither Ali nor Jimmy have said a word so far. Simply stare at each other.

 

Ali – to Joe’s relief – answers his question with a smile. “First of all, how dare you sneak off for churros con chocolate on the morning before an actual training session?” he asks in something approaching his captain voice. Which has no effect at all, considering how much he can feel a laugh bubbling up from the inside. “Or rather, how dare you not ask me if I want to join you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s only so many times I’ll let you get away with being an insubordinate cheeky little shit, but on the other hand,  I haven’t had churros con chocolate in ages.” Ali adds and grins.

Joe breaks into helpless giggles. “Okay, I’ll make it up to you in South Africa.” he replies, wiping his eyes. Ali holds his left hand out and Joe fist-bumps him. And winks. “You can hold me to it, lads.” Joe says importantly.

 

“Jim?” Ali gently nudges his boyfriend.

Who seemed to have shrunk back into the couch for the last thirty minutes. Has reached for one of the blue pillows they recently bought at John Lewis, almost looks like he is clinging to it. His eyes are shining with suppressed tears.

“I need to say sorry as well,” Jimmy whispers eventually after a few false attempts. “To all of you. I … I was a bit of an arse. Or rather a massive selfish idiot since we came back from Sri Lanka last November. And especially during the World Cup. You see, Ali and me had quite the argument before Christmas in 2014 and then … because I was still convinced you would never … love me back … so I sort of withdrew. Tried to deal with it on my own. And I never knew how much the two of you were struggling and I really should have looked after all of you, I was the most senior player in our team after all and … Ali, you did such an amazing job with those daily phone-calls and … shit.”

 

That was, by Jimmy’s standards, an impressively long speech.

Which he seems to realise as well. Shrinks back even further, visibly shaking.

“Jim, come here.” Ali says gently and holds an arm out.

Jimmy snuggles into Ali’s arms. Closes his eyes for a while. And enjoys the warmth spreading from his chest all around his body. “Sorry.” he mutters.

“Don’t worry. We’re good.” Ali kisses Jimmy’s forehead. And is rewarded with a soft smile.

 

An idea hits him.

 

“Lads?” he says, turning towards Joe and Jos. “I think … I mean, thank you. Both of you. For being so completely honest with all of us. I think we all got a lot of answers tonight.” “Right.” Jos agrees, shifting slightly so Joe can rest his head on Jos’ shoulder. “It really was worth it. Tough, but worth it.”

“What are you after, Cookie monster?” Joe asks.

“Let’s make a promise to each other. And this isn’t just me speaking as your captain, this is … You are three of the most important people in my life. I never would have survived this without all of you. Your loyalty and your support. So, I’ll promise you one thing tonight.” Ali holds out his left hand.

“From now on, I won’t have secrets in front of you. And you can always, always come to me. I’m not sure I can help you every time, but I can at least listen.” he says with an affectionate smile.

“And you’re good at that.” Joe returns his smile and covers Ali’s hand with his. “I make the same promise. You’ll always know what’s going on with me. And you can always talk to me if you need it. You’ve been nothing but fantastic to me since we met. Never thought I’d have such great friends.”

Jos takes a brief moment to take it all in. Almost feels himself well up again as he places his right hand on top of Ali’s and Joe’s. “I … same.” Which is as much as he can manage at the moment.

 

Jimmy laughs quietly. “We’re like the Three Musketeers.” he says and extends his hand too. “Four,” Joe corrects him. “I can count, you pest.” Jimmy grumbles fondly. “Anyway, as cheesy as this sounds, I think you know what I’m about to say?”

Joe giggles. “Right. One for all – and all for Captain Cook.”

They all laugh.

“Thank you.” Ali says softly. “So … who wants ice-cream?”

And with that, the conversation ambles back to safer territories (and an argument between Jimmy and Joe if strawberry ice-cream really needs strawberry sauce on top as well).

Nevertheless, a certainty has settled over the room. A calming, reassuring one.

That makes Ali smile when he returns with their four glass bowls.

_We will be friends for life._


End file.
